


Perfect Little Freaks: 6.5

by AOrange



Series: Perfect Little Freaks [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Comedy, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Other, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AOrange/pseuds/AOrange
Summary: Everyone's back on their bullshit, because of course they are.Dirk's back at work for the first time in six years while Dave's falling into the old routine of prioritising everyone above himself. Terezi's excelling in Grad School and Roxy's finally getting her happy ending. John's still super depressed for obvious reasons, Karkat's doing his best, and Rose is, too.Family is a big and ever-changing thing, but the consistency of their existence is what makes everything worth it.
Relationships: Dad/Mom, Dave Strider & Karkat Vantas, Jake English/Dirk Strider, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido, Terezi Pyrope/Karkat Vantas
Series: Perfect Little Freaks [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/103811
Comments: 126
Kudos: 118





	1. [A6.5A1]: the final stage in the di-stri fictional narrative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are work trips, fun trips, and trips to the drugstore.

**October, 2019**

It would be overbearing to make a fourth call after the first three went unanswered. He knew that, but dialled again anyway. Just in case. It wasn't the first time he'd made consecutive calls that went unanswered and it wouldn't be the last.

No answer. 

There was most likely a simple explanation. It was almost midnight on the East Coast and he'd worked hard over the years to instill the value of a regular sleep routine in his son. Perhaps he was otherwise occupied, most likely with his friends now that they all lived nearby. Maybe he had lost track of the time with headphones clamped down over his ears again like he did so often, playing the same eight bars over and over until he could play them from memory. Or maybe, just maybe, he was deliberately ignoring his ringing cell phone. 

But John would never. Would he?

Dinner comprising of a Panera soup and salad at eight thirty in the evening wasn't his idea of a good meal, but he hadn't left the office until after seven in two weeks. In addition to his regular duties and all the additional roles he'd picked up over the years, he was in the middle of a series of regular meetings with upper management to negotiate some important changes to his role going forward. They were willing to give him what he wanted - more time working from home - but it was complicated finding a schedule that worked for everyone. 

They'd rejected his initial proposal for six months on, six months off, but it was looking like he might get them to agree to a three month alternating schedule. The Spring and Fall would be spent in Seattle, at the office, while he worked remotely from Upstate New York throughout the Summer and Winter; he'd opened with the six month offer knowing it would be rejected in order to get the three months he wanted.

By the time he tidied up the kitchen and put on a load of laundry, it was late enough that he went straight upstairs. He turned on the television in his bedroom for noise while he hung up his suit to wear again the next day, and laid out a new set of gym clothes for the morning. He was sitting up in bed, with the final half hour of _Dancing with the Stars_ on in the background, when his cell rang. He put his book down and reached over to pick up the phone from his bedside table. 

It wasn't his son calling him back like he'd hoped, but it was his wife.

"Hello?"

"Oh, honey, have I had a _day_ ," Roxy said through the phone, clearly exhausted. 

"Are you driving?" He asked, as soon as he realised he could hear the road noise in the background. It seemed unusual given the time in New York.

"No, I'm in an Uber. The girl driving me has just started college and get this, she's taking all the hard sciences! I just met her but fuck, I'm so proud. Anyway, I thought I'd call when I realised that it's super late already," she explained. 

"Here or there?"

"Well the thing is, it's all the same," she said. "I'm twenty minutes away."

"Are you now?" 

That was a surprise; as far as he'd known, she didn't have any travel planned for a full two weeks. 

"I was going to pick you up from work but I just spent five hours in Philly because my flight was cancelled, and you know how I feel about Philly," Roxy explained with a sigh. "Considering the time, I thought I'd let you know it's just me making all sorts of noise downstairs so you don't take a swing at me with a baseball bat thinking I'm some kind of shitty burglar."

He glanced at the baseball bat propped up by the bedroom door. 

"Probably a wise decision," he laughed. "I suppose I'll see you soon?"

"Just in Renton now so even sooner than you think," she said brightly. "Love you."

She hung up then, and true to her word he heard her key in the front door just over twenty minutes later. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he said, when Roxy finally peered through the open door to the bedroom. 

"Crazy, right?" Roxy replied with a gentle laugh as she crawled into bed beside him, still fully dressed in more casual clothes than he'd been expecting. "I thought I'd just drop in and surprise you, but _no_ , American Airlines fucked that plan right out the window. I'll drive you in the morning," she added, curling up against him to get comfortable. 

"You're going to come to the gym with me?"

"Oh, _no_ , honey. I said I'll drive you. I might even cheer you on from the sidelines but it's gonna take a lot more than that to convince me," she said, suddenly much more serious than before. 

"You're always welcome to join me," he said, adjusting the arm around her.

"In the car? Sure, I already offered to drive."

"I can't convince you to lift up a very heavy object and put it back down again?" 

"Well when you put it like that, how can a girl resist?" Roxy laughed. "You know how we're always saying Dave's never gonna get fat no matter how much shit he puts away? I'm how we know. Dirk's gotta work stupid hard to look like that," she said. "But I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'd kill for Dave's legs."

"I feel like this is a lose-lose for me, but your legs are just fine," he said.

"Hell yeah they are," Roxy replied, throwing one of her legs over his as if to prove the point. "How's John?"

"Busy, I assume. He didn't pick up this afternoon," he said; he was still concerned by that fact. "Or half an hour ago."

"Or any of the hundred other times in between? I'm sure he's fine," she said, gently patting his chest. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm stupidly tired after sitting in fucking _Philly_ all afternoon and you've got a hot date with a heavy object in the morning, so I declare right now officially bedtime," Roxy said as she kissed his shoulder. 

"I'm sure there's a joke about you not being a heavy object in there somewhere, but I'm not the man brave enough to make it," he said, shifting again to kiss her properly for the first time in weeks, running a hand along her thigh as they both readjusted themselves on the bed. "I am, however, the man brave enough to suggest that these leggings find their way to the floor in the next ten seconds."

+++

Dave had been living with a sinking feeling deep in his gut for two days. When he'd first seen the text from Terezi on Saturday night, halfway through pizza in Dumbo with Karkat, he immediately felt the cheese sitting heavily in his stomach as he called for an Uber.

Nothing had felt quite right since they'd made it home that night. 

He didn't blame John for wanting to stay over. They'd made him a nest of sorts on the couch to hide in, buried underneath all their spare pillows and blankets as if that was enough to keep reality at bay, just a little longer. Dave had pumped up the AC so high to compensate for all of John's layers that Karkat had been wearing a hoodie inside since Sunday morning. 

It had been a quiet two days. Sunday, they'd all worked just for something to do. Dave had spent the day at his desk in the living room, alternating between a new comic page for his Patreon rewards and editing a video he'd shot a week earlier with Karkat. Terezi had spread out on the living room floor to study, with her laptop and various snacks set up on the coffee table; she poured herself enough potato chips to account for John stealing them because he knew she wouldn't see him do it, and he did, a hand periodically appearing from under the blanket pile until they were all gone. Karkat had locked himself in his bedroom and produced two film reviews and an article by dinner. 

They'd all done much the same on Monday, except Terezi had gone to her classes and didn't get home until after seven. 

For the entire two days, John had only moved to go to the bathroom. They could tell when he was awake because his Pesterchum account set itself to Do Not Disturb instead of Offline, and he emerged fully from his cocoon to eat whatever anyone brought him. He hadn't gone for a shower that they knew of, which Terezi had pointed out in a loud, pointed whisper when he'd gone to the bathroom earlier that evening. 

Dave wasn't expecting the faint knock on his bedroom door, somewhere after midnight. 

"Dave?"

The door opened, just a crack. 

"I'm up," Dave mumbled from under his blankets. "You all good?"

"Yeah," John said. "You're not like, jerking off or anything are you?"

"Nope. Come on in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'd know if I was jacking it. Look, new topic. What's up?" Dave said as John closed the door behind him. 

"Can I sleep in here? My neck is kind of killing me and I think it might be permanently bent the wrong way," John asked, climbing into the bed even as he asked the question; Dave shuffled back towards the wall to make room for him. 

"Yeah, dude. You wanna talk about it or just get some z's?"

"Both, but also neither?"

"Okay, cool," he said, unsure of how else to respond.

It wasn't cool at all; his stomach flipped as John settled down beside him with a sigh. 

He'd been down this road before, with his mom and his sister, and even though it had been years since he'd had to look after them so completely, something about John falling down the same hole was just about killing him; just two days of feeding schedules and constant checks and worrying were already starting to wear him down, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone.

"Why is it so cold in here?" John asked suddenly.

"We've been blasting the AC so you don't suffocate in your blanket cocoon."

"Oh. Thanks. What are you doing?"

"It's called a hug, John," Dave said, his voice hitching as he worked his arms around John from behind to hold him tight; he let go for long enough to grab a spare pillow and shove it down under the blankets. "Boner shield."

"Gross."

"We're related now, it's all cool. Anyway, hug. You might go for the rib-crushers, which are totally awesome by the way, but cuddling is my jam," Dave said, adjusting the arm he had around John to pull the blanket back down over the both of them, resting his clenched fist against the mattress. "Fuck, dude. I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't got a fuckin' clue what to do next."

"I thought you were supposed to be good at hugging."

"I mean in general."

"Oh. I kinda figured I could live on your couch forever?" John suggested.

"I mean, you could, yeah. But you know there's only so long you can hide out in a literal depression hole before you hit the point of no return, right?" Dave said. 

"I don't think that's true."

"It's so true."

"I don't know, it sounds fake," John said suspiciously. 

"That's just the depression telling you that, dude. It wants you to just live in a literal depression hole for the rest of your life, that's pretty much the definition of the problem," Dave said, his other arm readjusting under the pillows. 

"Is it?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "You gonna go to college tomorrow?"

"No. I might just drop out, because I can't exactly go back there like, ever?" John said. "Obviously."

"Yeah you can. I'll come with you. Like sure, skip your classes or whatever, but we'll just go back to your place sometime tomorrow and figure it out from there," Dave said, involuntarily tightening the arm he had wrapped around John's chest. 

"I can't. I want to, I guess, but I can't go back there now. Maybe I could change schools," John suggested, sounding surprisingly upbeat about the idea. "Like, she hasn't been anywhere else in New York, right? So if I changed schools I wouldn't have to think about everything."

"We'll go pick up some of your shit, yeah? Decide next week. Like, at a minimum you need some clean fuckin' underwear," Dave said. 

"You'll come with me?"

"Yeah, John. You know I'd do literally anything for you, I can manage a trip across the city."

"Help me change schools?" 

"If that's what you want, yeah."

"Let me be sad for the rest of the week?"

"Within reason, sure."

"Not get a boner?"

"Ever? Forget it. Can't promise that."

"You _did_ say you'd do anything, Dave."

"You're fucking with me now, and I know it. Because hey, if I gotta do that, you do too."

"I've never had a boner ever in my life."

"Bullshit, John. You're ace, not dead. As far as I know, your dick works just fine."

"Why are we talking about my dick?"

"You started it, dude. Don't start shit you're not willing to finish," Dave said. "You really just skirted around the whole clean underwear thing, huh?"

"It's gross, right?" John asked, obviously embarrassed. "I know it's gross, but I don't have any other pairs, and if I have a shower I'll need to borrow a towel, and use your fancy shampoo, and it's just a lot."

"It's all good," Dave said, moving just enough to press his forehead up against the back of John's neck. "Tomorrow we'll start like, _Operation John 3.0_ or whatever. You know, leave the house, have a shower, all the basic how-to-human shit," he added. 

"Maybe," John said quietly. "Are we gonna stay like this all night?"

"Yeah. That okay? I mean, call me self-serving but you're way taller than Karkat and I'm kinda hoping you'll roll over in your sleep or something and I'll get to be the little spoon for once."

"Most people don't start dreaming until they're actually asleep."

"Oh, _savage_. Tomorrow, dude. It's cliche as fuck, but trust me, a decent snooze can fix almost anything."

"Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"If you shut up I'll think about being your dumb spoon."

+++

"Cut!" 

Jake frowned. 

"Sir, I believe this particular variety of apple happens to be one of your favourites and if you don't remove yourself from my shoulder immediately, I will absolutely eat all of it myself."

He was arguing with a cockatoo. 

The bird jumped from one foot to the other but still refused to take the snack, choosing to instead shriek loudly in his ear. 

"No, I'm not putting up with that," Jake said, tossing the apple down onto the studio desk. "Right, just because you think you're as clever as you actually are doesn't mean I'm going to let you throw a tantrum. If you're really that clever, then you know tantrums won't get you very far in life."

The cockatoo screeched again and flapped his wings in protest as Jake reached up to try and transfer him to a hand; instead of moving, the bird bit down hard. 

"Motherfucking Christ on a stick!" Jake yelped, quickly withdrawing his bleeding hand. "I'm fine! Hang on, let me sort out the pretentious bastard first," he added quickly when two additional handlers started moving towards him. Moving fast, he grabbed the bird more roughly than he usually would have and maneuvered him into the waiting carrier. "Now neither of us get the apple, you lunatic bird, because it's covered in blood," he said, latching the door closed despite the cockatoo's increasingly loud protests. "I'll come and see you later on when you've calmed down and I've had a good dose of antibiotics. Right," he added, looking around the set. "Medical?"

He stood as still as he could manage while the set medic looked over his left hand; the bite was deep but clean and would only need a stitch or two, or maybe three. Jake flexed his fingers on request as they checked for any deeper damage, but the injury seemed limited to a flesh wound. 

"Lucky it was just about lunchtime anyway," he said somewhat sheepishly, pressing a large wad of gauze over the bite. "Hm? No, no, here is fine," he said, in response to a question he'd only half heard. 

The medic had to repeat the question, which turned out to be less of a question and more of a request that he move to the medical office. 

_Of course_ , Jake had replied when the comment finally sunk in. The set medics were overly cautious, he thought. So long as they cleaned the site of the injury it would be fine. He couldn't even remember how many times he'd given himself stitches in less than ideal circumstances, not to mention the time Dirk had sliced his own hand open and needed more than half a dozen stitches in their kitchen. 

There was a sharp, sudden bark as he was led off-set towards the golf cart they used to get around the Zoo. 

"Oh, so when the wild bird tries to maul me you sleep through it but when the human vet tries to help me you're suddenly on the defensive, hmm?" Jake said as Hal came running across the floor towards him, a bewildered intern close behind. "Just because you've got issues with the vet doesn't mean we all do. And let me tell you this, routine checkups are just about as bad when you get to my age, I promise you that."

Hal barked again. 

"I'm fine, you great oaf," he said dismissively. "I hope he wasn't too much of a handful," Jake added as the intern handed off the dog's lead. 

"He was great, but he did eat some kind of bug though."

"Not the worst thing he's ever consumed, luckily. Right," he said, finally sitting down in the passenger's seat of the cart. "Stitches, that's where we were going. Do you want to walk or ride?"

When Jake gestured vaguely towards the rear bench seat with his good hand, Hal jumped up and settled himself down for the drive. 

When they arrived, they had to wait for the set medic to join them. Jake turned down the offer of painkillers three times, assuring the Zoo's nurse that he was fine and that the wound hardly hurt at all despite the blood-soaked gauze taped around his finger. 

It was, in fact, throbbing painfully.

Impatiently, Jake stood back up from the cot and unwrapped the bandages from his finger to examine the injury himself. He held his hand over the sink and turned on the faucet to let the cool water wash over the wound, scrubbing the dried blood from around it with his fingers. Without turning the water off first, he worked his ring up over the bite and rinsed it clean, then set it down beside the sink. 

"Could I get some antiseptic if it's not too much trouble? Anything you've got will do, even just some rubbing alcohol. I'll need all the usual bits as well, if you could. Sutures, neosporin, a band-aid or two," Jake said, examining his finger more closely once it had been cleaned of the blood. "Oh, thank you," he said when the nurse handed him a bottle of alcohol. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm not a fan of wound sterilisation," he added, unscrewing the cap with his right hand. "Jesus fucking Christ, that smarts like the devil!" 

Hal looked up lazily at Jake's outburst, but put his head back down when he realised there was nothing unusual happening. 

"Do you have anything to help numb my poor finger? I can put a stitch in without it but I'd rather not, you know?"

"Dr. English, I'm going to have to ask you to stop," the set medic said, as she finally entered the first-aid rooms. "You know you won't be covered by insurance if you do that yourself."

"Oh, phooey," Jake said, barely managing to contain the urge to roll his eyes. "That's just what they tell you to cover their own behinds."

"No, it's policy. Now take a seat, sit still, and tell me about your dog."

Jake sat.

+++

"He's almost eighteen months, so he's probably finished packing on weight but what's the point of a dog if it's not within twenty pounds of your adult son, right?"

"Is that big or what?"

"The dog or the son?" Dirk asked, scrolling back up his Instagram feed. "The dog, yeah. He's over one-twenty, but the son's as tall as me and maybe one-fifty soaking wet."

"Yeah, I follow him. He's pretty funny," the intern said, leaning back against the wall as Dirk took another swig of his beer. 

"That's because he exists solely for the purpose of dismantling the established conventions of literally everything so he can reshape the raw concept of humor."

"I guess, a lot of his things seem to end up as memes."

"That's how you know it's working," Dirk said as he put his drink back down on the desk. "Okay, look at this one," he added, turning his phone around again to show the intern a photo that had just been uploaded; it was an image of an injured finger, wrapped in gauze, and a caption that read _Three stitches!!_. "I'm married to that. Do you want to know the secret to a lasting marriage?"

"Sure?"

The intern didn't sound convinced. 

"Get him tested for adult ADHD _before_ you lose your fucking mind," Dirk said bluntly. "How did it happen? Why did he need stitches? What animal was responsible and was it his fault anyway? Did he fuck up any ligaments or nerves this time? Or, my personal favourite, did he remember to put the ring in his pocket when he took it off or am I going to have to dig out the box I bulk ordered off Amazon to replace it, again?" 

He knocked back another mouthful of beer as he typed out a comment to post under the photo. 

TT: What happened to the other guy?

The studio had insisted on having at least some kind of wrap party once he'd approved the final track to be sent downstairs for mastering. He'd tried to argue them on it, but the email had gone out regardless - they'd met him halfway and ordered drinks and Whataburger for anyone who turned up to the Intern Office after lunch. 

The reply came quickly. 

GT: He was put into bird prison without his supper!!!

"See? Bird prison. What the fuck is bird prison? If they're captive birds they're already in prison, right?" Dirk said, as he drained the last mouthful of beer from the bottle. "That's marriage. You listen to shit like _bird prison_ for fourteen years and instead of wondering how you got there, you get stuck thinking about just where the metaphor ends. Birds that are tagged for data collection, are they under house arrest? It's that kind of highly specific and nuanced bullshit you end up arguing over when you're driving to the grocery store at eleven at night because he's decided on a whim he wants a sandwich for lunch tomorrow, and you haven't had bread in three weeks. Then you get home and make toast because fuck it, you haven't had bread in three weeks, right?"

"You don't eat bread?"

"What? Yeah, I eat bread, just not all the time. I'm old, give me a break," Dirk said, sliding his phone into his back pocket. "Look, I'll go talk at someone else for a while but in case I don't make it back around, thanks for all the help the last few weeks. If you need a reference for anything, hit me up and I'll write you a letter. That's a genuine offer, by the way. Job, grad school, whatever."

"Hey, thanks!"

"No problem. Like I said, you've been a big help, as much as it wounds my soul to the core to admit," he said, clapping the kid on the shoulder as he started moving across the room. 

He picked up another beer from the table as he crossed the room and leant back against the wall, waiting silently for his producer to finish reading an email on his phone. 

"You know," the producer said, locking his phone screen. "You've still got the knack for sending a clear message without saying anything."

"I wasn't sending shit," Dirk replied casually, tossing the bottlecap from his freshly opened beer down onto the nearest desk. 

"You're standing here because you think if you get me in on a conversation, I won't make an announcement in front of all these people."

"Do it," he said with a shrug. "Takes more than that to get me going these days."

"You think I'm bluffing, don't you?"

"Do it," Dirk said again, taking a swig of beer. "I'll even get the lights," he added, reaching over with his free hand to flash the lights on and off a few times; someone across the room turned the music down in the middle of a Post Malone song. 

" _Asshole_ , the producer seethed, unlocking his phone again to try and find the notes he'd made earlier in the day. "Okay," he announced, raising his voice so the whole room could hear him. "Thanks for dropping in y'all, on what's bound to be the first day of the rest of my life, free from this insufferable example of someone who's let success change absolutely nothing about him."

"Since when is that a bad thing?"

"Shut up and let me talk. Back in 1995, we signed a twelve month contract with a kid who had some of the wildest ideas we'd ever heard. If you think we're small time now, you should have seen the office back then - it looked like shit. He'd been sending us demos for a while and we had no fucking idea what to do with them, all that shit about puppets in one continuous narrative was so far out there we thought it was a joke. Obviously we signed him, and that decision was based entirely on the fact he waltzed into his first meeting with Lil' Cal in one hand and a notebook full of words we'd never even heard in the other. If nothing else, we thought we could use him as a writer somewhere along the line," his producer said.

Dirk shrugged when he paused, nodding for him to go on.

"It took almost ten years for the investment to start paying off. Most of that was our fault. We gave him a better deal than we'd give to anyone now, and even back then it was a deadshit move on our part. We gave him his masters, a bigger cut than he deserved for making us put up with him, and had him tour with whoever we had on the road at the time to get him out there. It seemed like a safe bet to secure someone that good at stringing words together, even though we had no idea who'd want to listen to a white guy rap about murder dolls. Anyway, we lost millions because they went straight into his pocket and not ours towards the end, because it turns out way too many people want to listen to a white guy rap about murder dolls."

"Play stupid games," Dirk grinned at the room over the rim of his beer. 

" _Anyway_ ," the producer said pointedly. "When he retired, he did it on live TV without telling any of us he was even thinking about it then ignored my calls for three days. He was totally in his right to do it, he wasn't even on a traditional contract by then and we just had to run with it. Then he fucked off. He fucked right off to California to settle down and bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. We didn't hear from him for a full six years and then out of the blue, he sends me an email asking if I'd be interested in putting out one more album. After _six years_. Of course I said yes, because we've all established that everything about his career has been an insane move, why should that change now? So, today is a big deal because one, we know this is happening, and two, as of this morning, every aspect of production for the album has been finalised and is in progress. Now, I can say that after twenty four years, Di-Stri is _officially_ retiring and I'm finally going to be able to sleep at night knowing I'm never going to have to look Cal in the eye again."

When the speech was over, the room full of interns, various levels of management, and studio executives burst into scattered applause. Dirk pushed off the wall and waited for the clapping to settle; it didn't take long, everyone was still eating their burgers and their attention rapidly turned to him, waiting impatiently for his reply. 

"I'll keep it quick," he said, beer still in hand. "Anyone else who'd been born into my family would have been set for life. They weren't old-money rich, but they were 80s rich. I could have gone to any college I wanted. Hell, they paid for my sister to go to Princeton until they found out she was actually studying science. Rich white kid, good grades all round, trust fund - the story writes itself. But because I'm the way I am, I couldn't let that happen. The narrative fell apart for my family before any of them even realised it. Rebellion looked real different back then. I had some choice fuckin' haircuts, I'll tell you that, and there's a real sense of nostalgia for the days when listening to rock music in your bedroom meant you were about to start drinking, smoking, taking drugs, and dressing like some punk-ass kid who's never seen a hundred dollar bill in his life."

Dirk paused, partially for effect but mostly to take another drink before continuing his speech. 

"Anyway, I started doing all that shit and more and I got my ass beat for it, but hey, when you're scripting your own future you'll take the gamble because rich whites in the 80s were nothing if not predictable. You knew what they liked and what they didn't, so the only real gamble was just how hard you'd get your ass beat. By the time I moved here, to Houston, for college, their ideal future was dead. Some things you can't take back, and they learnt that the hard way. I had no place in their world, so I had to find my own. It was built on spite, and hate, and a twisted sense of what was fair. That's why my demo tapes were such complete garbage. But every album, every track, every step of the narrative, fictional and real, was built deliberately. When I quit, the first time, I quit because I needed to put the narrative focus on my own life for the first time in close to two decades. This album, this final stage in the Di-Stri fictional narrative, brings together the same bullshit I've been spouting throughout my entire career, with just enough truth to explain why things were the way the were. This is the postscript to a career, a final nod to the journey, before I disappear into the ether, if the ether was my sprawling Upstate property with my husband, his countless guns, our dog, and occasionally my kid. I don't have a SoundCloud to promote, but the epilogue to my career, _Ultimate Self_ is out on the 31st of October, exclusively digital, so stream that shit on your streaming service of choice and I'll see you when I see you."

The applause that followed was loud and long, and the room filled with cheers and even a whistle or two. Dirk raised his beer and all around the office, drinks went up in their bottles, or cans, and the noise went on for far longer than he thought he deserved. 

He slipped his phone back out from his pocket; he wanted to post the second album teaser. The timing seemed too perfect to pass up, even if it wouldn't mean anything to the general public. But there was a message waiting to be read so he opened Pesterchum instead of Instagram and skimmed the text. 

GT: But enough public discussion about my inevitable misadventures, although they are the reason were on an extended lunchbreak!! Hows your day?

Dirk felt a familiar, comfortable ache in his chest when he saw the attached photo Jake had taken of himself, lying on the grass outside with his head resting on Hal's stomach. 

TT: One of the better ones. So. Bird prison. How does the witness relocation program work? They've all got fuckin' wings.

+++

In the end, it was Terezi who convinced him to go out. He refused point-blank to go back to school. As far as he knew, Dave had contacted his professors and said that he was sick, really sick, and wouldn't be back for at least another week. He'd need a doctors' note but he could get one of those if he asked, even if it only read _Reason for absence: Vriska_. 

She needed to go to the drugstore, but it was rush hour and there were too many unpredictable potential obstacles. Dave was out so she couldn't drag him with her, and Karkat was still at a meeting to try and secure another short-term employment contract. It couldn't wait, she'd said. Technically it could, but then they'd have to explain to Dave why she'd bled all over his couch. John scrunched up his nose, only able to get away with expression because she couldn't see.

One of his sneakers flew unexpectedly over the back of the couch and smacked him in the side of the head. 

"John, you know I am not one for unnecessary theatrics but I have lived with Karkat for long enough that his necessary theatrics have started to rub off," she said, jamming her feet into her own, neon, sneakers. "I have exactly one tampon left and it is making itself useful as we speak. I need you to pretend you are not crippled by your lack of dopamine for maybe twenty minutes and help me out here." 

"That's kind of harsh," John frowned. He stomped his foot into the single sneaker anyway. 

"Yeah. Are you ready?" 

"I don't know where my other sneaker is," he said. 

"I just threw it at you." 

"No, the other other one." 

"John, hurry up!" 

"I am hurrying!" 

"Not enough!" Terezi exclaimed, hands on hips as she waited for him to locate the missing sneaker. 

John was stalling. They both knew it but once he'd crammed the other foot into its sneaker, which was exactly where he'd left it days earlier, there were no excuses left to avoid leaving the apartment. He could think of a bunch of reasons: he didn't want to, it was too busy out, he hadn't asked his dad, he didn't want to, there could be people out there he didn't want to see, he didn't want to. When he thought about it, he really didn't want to go. 

Terezi shoved her keys into his hand and picked up her backpack from on top of the washing machine as they walked out through the kitchen, dragging him by the other hand. 

It was cooler outside than he'd thought it would be. The Fall weather had come in quickly over the past few weeks and the temperature was dropping as the sun began to dip below the skyline in the distance. It was nice. Terezi linked her arm through his before the end of the block and John shook aside the still-vivid memory of one particularly rainy Seattle day; here and now, in New York, Terezi needed his help and that sucked because she only ever asked when she had no other choice. 

"John?"

"Huh?" 

He'd been mostly silent for the walk, except to warn her of curbs.

"I need you to pick up the boxes."

"Oh, right. Which ones?"

"The box says Tampax, it's blue unless they changed it. I want one box of regular and one box of super, but do not accidentally pick up the box where they are mixed together because that will only lead to a series of very stupid accidents," Terezi explained. "And do not pick up anything that has the word _cardboard_ on it."

"Uh, this one?" John asked, reading the full label on the front of the box out loud. 

"Yes! And the other kind will be next to it and say regular instead of super. Do you want anything else while we are here? We can try to find the serotonin aisle. That was a joke," she added in a hurry, just after John dropped the two boxes into the basket she was carrying. "Unless you do want to buy some serotonin."

"No, I've got enough for two more weeks. I kind of want a pepsi?" John said, unsure of himself even though it should have been a simple decision. 

"Eurgh, what is _wrong_ with you?" Terezi laughed as she linked her arm back through John's. 

"Like, clinically?"

"No! Oh my God, John, I know what is clinically wrong with you. I was making a joke about how pepsi is gross and you should be arrested for enjoying it."

"Oh. I definitely want a pepsi though," John said. "And some pringles. And maybe a whole bag of Halloween candy. I think I'm really hungry," he frowned, as they wandered across the store to the snack aisle. "Hey! I'm really hungry!"

"Well hurry up and choose your pringles so we can go home and eat them!" Terezi exclaimed excitedly in response to his sudden outburst. "And get me the sour cream and onion ones."

They tore into their chips on the walk home from CVS, and managed to demolish an entire tube between them with John up-ending the crumbs into his mouth as the elevator doors opened to let them off on their floor. 

"Hey, dude, way to give a guy a heart attack," Dave said suddenly before Terezi even finished unlocking the front door. "I texted you when you weren't here, what gives?"

"I was busy eating pringles," John said, dumping the empty tube into the garbage. "Terezi needed some stuff at CVS."

"Tampons," she supplied, closing the front door behind her. "For my vagina. It's bleeding."

"Not familiar with the concept," Dave replied nonchalantly, peering into a large pot of water on the stove as he leant back against the counter. 

"It is no surprise that you are unfamiliar with vaginas," Terezi shot back with a cackle, wandering around to sit up at the counter. John sat next to her and tore the seal off a second tube of pringles. 

"I've seen more than you," Dave retorted. 

"While that could _possibly_ be true, we have no way of confirming facts so I stand by my original burn," she said

"Yeah, that's probably fair. Anyway, I have news." 

"What news?" John asked through a mouthful of cheddar cheese pringles. "Wait, Terezi's blind."

"Yeah, that is why my burn was so incredibly sick," Terezi said pointedly, shoving her hand into the tube to snatch up some chips. "I have seen zero, implying Dave has seen less than zero."

"But porn counts, right?"

" _Dude_ ," Dave frowned. "Really?"

"What? You've definitely watched porn." John said. "Like, that's a thing you've done for sure."

"Oh my God, dude, I've been busy all afternoon working on a totally awesome surprise for you and this is what I get in return? An unfounded accusation that could damage my delicate and carefully constructed reputation for years to come? That's _slander_ , Egbert, I could fuckin' sue," Dave said as he upended a full bag of pasta into the pot of boiling water. 

"That's a yes," Terezi said in an overexaggerated whisper, leaning over on her chair to take another handful of pringles. 

"Gross, right?" John replied, in his own loud whisper. 

"Imagine having eyes that are mostly functional and using them for _that_."

"Guys, shut up, I said I had a surprise," Dave interrupted. 

"Is it pasta?" Terezi asked. 

"I hope it's pasta," John pitched in. 

"It's pasta, sure, surprise," Dave said with a flourish from beside the pot of boiling pasta. "It's also the keys to your new place, bro," he added. 

John just stared at the set of keys Dave threw across onto the counter. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've been uptown with Pops all afternoon because he picked up the keys to his apartment yesterday. We went and got a few sets made and I said you were probably gonna move in this week instead of over the semester break," Dave explained. "He was cool with it and said to let him know if there's any big furniture you need."

John frowned, just a little, as he turned the keys over in his hand. 

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude. It's all yours. Not like, all of it, he said to remind you that he was so not joking about who gets what bedroom, but that's it," Dave said. "We can go get your stuff tomorrow and like, go to Ikea and Target and shit whenever you want. Just don't tell Pops I took you to Ikea because man, he's not into the whole fast-furniture movement, it's a whole thing with him. Obviously, I'm buying. Within reason, you're not gonna get a bunch of unnecessary chandeliers out of me or anything," he went on, stirring the pot of pasta as he filled the silence. 

John didn't know what to say or how to say it; he still had himself half-convinced that he was going to move home to Seattle and try to forget everything that had happened in New York. Moving into the apartment would mean never having to go back to the dorms. He could avoid that one specific part of the courtyard for the rest of his course and pretend it had been some kind of hallucination. It would mean having a place of his own, kind of, to hide out in when everything happened too fast. 

"What if all I want is chandeliers?"

When he asked the question, he tried to sound as sad as he could. It worked; it took Dave a full three seconds to crack a grin. 

"Sorry, bro, the Dave Strider Furniture Fund only covers practical and necessary shit, like a mattress, or cat food."

"I don't have a cat."

"I'll get you one if you want, you should have a cat. I found mine and he's turned out okay, but cats just do that, I think," Dave said, opening one of the top cabinets. "Do we want red sauce or green sauce?"

"What the fuck is green sauce?" Terezi asked, her mouth full of pringles again. 

"Pesto. Herbs and shit."

"Oh, ew, no way," she said, nudging John with her knee. "Unless that is what John wants."

"Huh? Oh, red, I guess," John said. 

Dave pulled a jar from the cupboard and set it down beside the stove.

"Good choice. This is the fancy Wholefoods shit, it's like three bucks a jar goddamn. Shit, Rez, it's got some fuckin' herbs in it but you can't see 'em."

"Good," Terezi said darkly. "I am not here for green vegetables."

"So, you wanna move?" Dave asked, leaning back against the counter again, lifting the Mayor up onto his shoulders from the counter. 

John just looked at him for a few moments, trying to figure out how to respond. He wasn't ever going back to his dorm, that was for sure. He couldn't live on Dave's couch forever, as comfortable as he'd been surrounded by his friends at all times of the day. But in the new apartment, he'd have the entire place to himself a lot of the time and when he didn't, it would only be Jake. 

"What about just one very small chandelier?"

+++

The tail lights of the Prius flashed when he pressed the remote button for a fourth time; Jake was in desperate need of a new car and in deep denial about it. The remotes didn't work consistently even though they'd had them replaced, it had barely passed some of the requirements when they'd taken it to be re-registered in New York, and sometimes the battery didn't kick in when it should, leaving it almost fully reliant on the gas engine. 

Dirk had timed his flight back into Albany so he could catch the Amtrak to Saratoga Springs, where Jake had parked his car the previous week. It was a full twenty degrees cooler than in Houston as he lifted his suitcase into the trunk, then sat down in the drivers' seat only to find a post it note stuck inside the centre console, beside the AUX port. 

Love you!! We need toilet paper!!!

Knowing he'd need to pick up more than just toilet paper, he stopped at the big Walmart in town before taking the winding roads back out towards home. 

He filled in the next week with things he'd been both putting off and waiting for a chance to get done. The main bathroom still needed new fixtures installed, because it wasn't until after coming to the agreement that they'd find a vintage set that Dirk had realised how hard said full set would be to find; the hunt had finally ended at an antique store in Vermont, at which point he'd been unable to look at the bag of faucets without feeling like a ridiculous stereotype of a man who'd gone hunting for antiques in New England with his very particular husband and dog in tow. 

But self-loathing, no matter how repressed, was incapable of completing household tasks. 

He installed the bathroom hardware. He went and bought a snow blower the first night the temperature dipped below freezing, because after living in California for over twenty years Jake was convinced all they needed was a snow shovel - he'd laughed so hard at that that Jake had tried to sleep on the couch after a brief argument, but Hal wouldn't stop running up and down the stairs between them and he'd relented after an hour. 

He bought the shovel regardless, despite knowing it would be used a total of once on the driveway. He patched up the broken timber boards on the old garage, choosing to give it a full-season trial in keeping their cars out of the snow rather than digging out the truck any time they needed to leave the house; it needed more repairs, but his patch job would do until next summer. Slowly his to-do list was shrinking. He thought about dragging one of the dead trees out from the edge of the woods, but watching him saw it into more manageable logs for the fire seemed so far up the list of things Jake would enjoy a little too much that he decided to put off the task for another two weeks. He patched cracks in the plaster of half a dozen rooms, and painted two of the plainer walls in one of the spare upstairs bedrooms. 

He was scrubbing grit from the attic out from under his fingernails in the shower when he heard footsteps; they were too close for him to do anything, it was the floorboard just outside the bathroom creaking that caught his attention over the rushing water. He knew the location of exactly three guns out in the bedroom: the pistols were locked up, where they always were, behind a locked bedside cabinet door. There was a shotgun behind the closet door, but it wasn't going to be any help because the rounds were locked in with the pistols - he'd always planned to just crack an intruders' skull with it if it ever came to that, regardless. The bathroom, on the other hand, had the options of toilet brush, or safety razor.

Shampoo in the eyes was an effective self defence tactic, and it would have been even more effective had Jake not been wearing his glasses at the time of the attack. The shout of surprise - "it's just me, you uptight buffoon!" - was enough to snap Dirk out of his pre-prepared series of movements for the next ten seconds, and instead, he dragged Jake around the glass wall, still fully clothed, and into the shower to wash away the shampoo. 

"Christ on a fucking pogo stick, why does it sting this much?" Jake shouted as best he could, his face under the running water. 

"It's some tea-tree shit, what the hell, Jake? One, I don't like surprises and two, I don't like interruptions. How'd you think surprising me by interrupting my shower would go?" Dirk asked, taking the glasses when Jake held them out blindly in one hand; he put them up on the small built-in shelf, next to the safety razor he was suddenly glad he'd left where it was. 

"I've been yelling like a madman, it's not my fault you didn't hear me."

"Bullshit, I heard the loose floorboard."

"Okay, so I only shouted once or twice. Big house," Jake said as flippantly as possible for someone preoccupied with flushing out his eyes. "If I can't see well enough shoot straight after this I'm suing you."

"Not that this whole half-drowned zookeeper look isn't doing it for me, because it absolutely is, but why the fuck are you here and not at work?" Dirk asked, reaching over to push the wet hair back out of Jake's eyes. 

"I was under the impression you had an album to drop in something like forty three minutes."

"You came home for that?"

"No, I rallied the department to finish shooting the entire season two weeks early so I could be home for that," Jake said, blinking more than was probably necessary to check that his vision was clearing up. "We don't start filming the second season until mid-January."

"You're home until mid-January?"

"A handful of day-trips for lectures aside, I'm home until mid-January," Jake confirmed, a smile working its way onto his face. 

"You single-handedly reorganised an entire production's filming schedule so you could be home until mid-January?" Dirk asked, hands running loosely through Jake's soaked hair to move it back from his face again. 

"And I'm thanked for it with half a bottle of shampoo injected directly in my eyes," Jake replied sarcastically. "And some very wet socks," he added as he leant back against the tiled wall. 

"You know my unobjectively correct stance on you wearing work boots in the house," Dirk mumbled, refusing to break eye contact as he reached for the front of Jake's waistband. 

"Not to put a figurative damper on where this is no doubt heading to accompany the literal dampening of my entire being," Jake said, deflecting the hand just as it went to dip into his wet shorts; he laughed when Dirk groaned in frustration. "But the boys drove me, they're downstairs watching _Judge Judy_." 

"Which boys?" 

"Dave and John." 

"They're smart enough to stay downstairs," Dirk said, fingers curling into Jake's wet hair again when he realised both of his hands had been redirected up over his shoulders. 

"But are they?" Jake asked, his doubt genuine. 

"So they're probably not, your turn to sue me. Who drove?" 

"Dave, for the most part." 

"Only the second worst driver of the bunch," Dirk said as he stepped back under the running water, eyes still focused on Jake as he started peeling off his soaked khakis. "So far this is a piss poor strip show," he added, disappointed, as Jake unceremoniously dumped his sopping shirt into the corner of the shower. 

"Oh, relax," Jake said, leaning forward to mumble the rest of his words as close to Dirk's lips as he could get without actually making contact. "I assure you that I have every intention to absolutely destroy you later on tonight, but we've got a record launch to attend first." 

His socks and shorts joined his shirt on the tiles with a loud squelch. 

It wasn't how he'd thought it would go, especially not after his first, now failed, attempt at retirement. He'd tried to explain in a series of Instagram posts that he wasn't back, not for good, and that the album was simply the manifestation of his own inscrutable urges to have the final word, even over his past self. His first retirement had come out of nowhere on live television at the peak of his career, an unexpected move even for him. Unretirement, six years later, was equally unexpected but apparently welcome. 

Dave, on Twitter-duty, sunk deep into one corner of the basement couch and kicked John's foot out of the way when it tried to kick him first. 

"Oh my God, stop," he said, kicking again; after a few exchanges almost caused them to flip each other off the couch, they each ended up with the others' feet in their faces. 

"Comfortable?" Dirk asked without turning away from the computer screen. 

In unison, Dave and John replied with the same answer - a resounding no - that Dirk promptly ignored in favour of reviewing the statistics already rolling in through messages from the studio and his back-end software access. Preload numbers were still rising with only five minutes until launch. John, scouring Instagram, had sent him a series of links to posts that were talking about the album. His Facebook messages were still open on a gif of Nicki Minaj dancing that had been sent ten minutes earlier from none other than Meenah fucking Peixes; he'd replied with an equally inane gif of Bugs Bunny counting dollar bills.

"Double strength coffee for you, tea for me," Jake said, setting down two mugs on the desk. "And a disgusting pre-mixed frappuccino milk for the offspring," he added, handing Dave a plastic bottle from the pocket of his sweatpants. 

"Thanks, Pops, what about John?" Dave asked as he cracked the cap of his drink open. 

"I've got water," John said, briefly lifting his 32-ounce Hydro Flask up from the floor to show it off. 

"Ew," Dave said, pulling a face. "You drink too much water when you're not in your depression hole." 

"I don't think too much water is a thing, Dave."

"Double?" Dirk asked, briefly turning away from the monitor - and tuning out the boys - to pick up his coffee.

"You'll need it to keep you up so you can analyse the numbers until the early hours," Jake replied with a shrug, sitting down in the spare swivel chair off to Dirk's right. "Because you're going to be up all night trying to analyse the numbers, aren't you?"

"You could say it without sounding as condescending as that," Dirk frowned; he took a tentative sip of the hot coffee, trying to work out just what Jake had deemed to be 'double strength'. 

"You could try being less predictable," Jake said with a laugh, leaning over the arms of both chairs to plant a lingering, reassuring kiss on Dirk's jaw. 

"Number one, gross dads," Dave said. "But number two, it's one minute to release and the NDAs all just expired. Your reviews are live," he added, eyes back on Twitter. "They look good, _fuck_ , they look real good."

Everything about this release had been different. The album itself had been created in a matter of days. He'd used every resource the studio had given him, including the sound engineers they'd recommended he have look over the work. They had recorded John's sample in the old basement office at his sisters' house and Dave had edited it on a fucking iPad. He was releasing digital only for the first time ever, with the exception of the 50 vinyls in print, five of which had never even been up for public purchase and sat in a pile beside him on his basement workbench. 

Jake reached over and took his hand, fingers weaving through his and squeezing in a way that was even more comfortable than he'd expected. They hadn't even been living together when he'd retired the first time. 

He squeezed back. 

"It's out," Dirk said, right as the clock ticked over to 6pm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: jake did not remember to pick up the ring.


	2. [I26]: Ham Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a sudden dawning realisation with lifelong implications.

**April, 1992**

Someone four desks away was tapping their pencil to the tune of the _Neighbours_ theme song. Through the large window off to his left he could see two birds chasing each other in loops, ducking above and below the low hanging branches of an oak tree. Was it an oak tree? Did oak trees grow in Bristol? The sound of books cascading to the floor dragged his focus back inside, watching as two librarians hurriedly stacked the titles back onto a trolley. His own chair was starting to get uncomfortable so he adjusted a little, moving half an inch closer to the table and disrupting the tangle of feet hidden below, out of sight because they were at a table around the corner created by aisles and aisles of bookshelves. A knee pressed up against his. The birds were back at it again, fighting for the best spot on the branch. 

"Oi, you gonna answer me or what?"

"What?"

Jake pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose; they'd slipped so far down at some point that he'd lost track of the birds outside the library and had apparently just been imagining them fighting for branch-space, unable to see much at all without the lenses in place. 

"I asked if you were hungry, it's well late."

He glanced down at the digital Casio watch on his left wrist - an eighteenth birthday gift from his parents - and realised that his study partner was correct. 

"How in blazes is it two o'clock?" Jake exclaimed, earning them a loud 'shh!' from a passing librarian. "Sorry," he said in an exaggerated whisper as she gave him a firm frown. 

The knee had pulled back from his as soon as he'd shouted. 

Jake dropped his pencil onto the open notebook in front of him and stretched both arms up high above his head, leaning back so far that he felt his back crack against the hard wooden chair as the tips of his fingers brushed against the shelf behind him. 

He scowled when he looked back at his notes, with only a handful of scattered sentences surrounded by doodles of various animals to show for his three hours of study. There was a shark nibbling at the sentence he'd stopped writing, halfway through the word _microorganism_.

"Food?"

"I could murder a cup of tea right about now," he agreed, quickly slamming all of his books closed. "I'd settle for a ham sandwich, but the cup of tea is non-negotiable." 

As soon as he was outside, he peered around the edge of the library building; the birds were gone from their tree, replaced by a squirrel. 

"What are you doing tonight?"

The question was slowly becoming one he heard regularly from Patrick; he appreciated it though, it was harder to make friends at uni than it had been in school.

"Me? Quite honestly, probably more revising. I got bugger all done today and I'm rubbish at microbiology, it's all too small and I don't really give a flying fuck about any of it," Jake said. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"My flatmates are all out until late tonight," Patrick said casually, bumping his shoulder against Jake's. 

"That's all well and good, but if your kettle's out of action then I'd rather go to mine and drink the dishwater someone's left in the sink again."

"No filthy dishwater, and I can even throw in that ham sandwich."

+++

"You're not serious."

"What?"

"Three sugars?"

"Perfectly normal," Jake said dismissively. He licked the spoon to prevent any drips before he sent it flying across the room to land in the sink with a loud clatter. "Watch out," he added, well after the spoon had landed. 

"Cheers," Patrick laughed. "And there you have it, two ham sandwiches. Triangles or rectangles?"

"Triangles, you lunatic. It's got ham on it, you're not making afternoon tea for the bloody Queen," Jake said. He picked up his tea and took a tentative first sip of the freshly poured drink, wandering through to the living room with both mugs to find something to watch while they ate. 

He'd been to Patrick's sharehouse a few times over the past term. They were taking three of the same classes and spent most of the time between lessons in the library together. They'd been to the cinema half a dozen times and the pub even more. After the third trip to see _Lethal Weapon 3_ and too many beers, Jake had even slept on the same couch he sunk into as he demolished his sandwich in as few bites as possible. He sat back comfortably, watching Channel 4 while he nursed his tea until the last mouthful was almost too cold to bother drinking. 

"Here," Patrick said, taking the empty mug from him. 

Jake didn't notice that it took a few seconds longer than it should have to pass the mug between them. He didn't pay any mind to the knee pressed up against his again, or the hand that fell back onto his thigh. It wasn't until he was cut off, only a third of his way to the point he was trying to make about why there were no doubt more employment opportunities abroad, that he realised why Patrick was hovering almost too close. 

"You talk a lot," Patrick said as he pulled back just far enough to speak. "I like it, I really do, but it's a lot." 

"You kissed me," Jake replied, perplexed, his heart suddenly beating too hard and too fast in his chest. "Why'd you kiss me?"

"Better now than at the cinema, or in the library, or - " 

It was Patrick's turn to be cut off as Jake kissed back. His hands quickly found their way up into his hair and he let Patrick move into his lap, and press him back against the couch as the kiss rapidly progressed into something more. 

"Just to be clear," Jake said once his mouth was free for long enough to catch his breath. Patrick hadn't stopped completely, and was still kissing his cheeks, shoulder, throat; it was more than a little distracting, more distracting than the birds outside the window had been back at the library. The words were in his head, somewhere, but he was struggling to reach them at what seemed like an important moment. "I'm Jake. A man, I'm a man."

"I know," Patrick muttered as he pressed another kiss to Jake's mouth. "That's pretty bloody obvious right about now."

"Oh, Christ, sorry," Jake said hurriedly, his cheeks flushing as he tried to move out from under his study partner. 

"What?" 

"What?"

Patrick didn't seem to be moving from his lap despite the admission he was fully aware of what was happening in his own pants. 

"What do you mean, what?" Patrick asked, suddenly confused. "What?" 

"I mean, hang on," Jake said, his head tipping back to rest his neck against the couch cushion. "I'm not twenty-one until December."

"I'm in August, what's your point? You've clearly done this before."

"This, yes," Jake agreed, lifting his head back up. "But not _this_ ," he went on, hands coming to rest on Patrick's stubble-covered cheeks. "Not, you know."

"Have I dramatically misread the last few weeks?" Patrick asked, still breathing heavily to try and catch his breath. "You are that way, aren't you?"

"I've never really thought about it." 

Jake frowned as the words came out of his own mouth. He really hadn't ever thought about it - he'd only ever been with girls, and he'd thought that had all gone about as well as it could have at the time. He'd spent a good chunk of his more private time thinking about David Bowie, or browsing every page of a catalogue that had someone modelling underwear on it, but he hadn't ever really dwelled on the deeper meaning of his interests, or any of the similar thoughts he'd had in the past. 

"What are you thinking now?" 

Jake snapped back into the moment, any thoughts of Bowie pushed immediately aside when he felt fingers curling against the hem of his t-shirt. 

"I don't know," he admitted with a frown, hands drifting slowly down to join Patrick's, already resting in his lap. "I don't know what I'm thinking because I've never really thought I was, you know, but I don't think I'm not _not_ like that, if the current situation is any indication." 

"But you've done it all with girls?"

"Yeah," he said, fidgeting with a loose thread from his shirt. "I've ruined it, haven't I? You only just said I talk too much, and I know I do, but we've quite literally gone from you telling me I talk too much to me bloody well talking too much. I can't help it, I really can't, oh, Lord, what are you doing now?" Jake said, narrating his own inner-monologue out loud as Patrick disentangled their fingers long enough to peel his own t-shirt up over his head. 

Jake just stared as he dropped the shirt onto the floor between the couch and coffee table. 

"Your turn?"

He ran his hands back up Patrick's chest, slowly, breath catching in his throat when he felt bare fingers slip under his shirt and start to lift it for him. 

Jake nodded. 

"Oh, stop, _stop_ ," Jake said suddenly, unsure who he was talking to when he found it harder than he'd thought to break the deep, lengthy kiss that immediately followed his own shirt joining Patrick's on the floor. 

"Stop?"

"God, no, don't stop," he groaned, pressing another kiss to Patrick's throat. "But yes, stop, because I've seen enough horrible things happen on this couch in the past to know we'll both catch something from it if we carry on like this."

"You get the shirts, I'll get the dishes, and fucking hell, do _that_ again when we're upstairs, won't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. age of consent in the UK was 21 for homosexual relationships until 2001. 2001!! then it was equalised to 16.   
> 2\. they date for two months after this and break up amicably before the summer holidays. the next school year, jake dates a girl for five whole months, mostly because she's a girl and he still isn't exactly sure he's 'like that' so a girl is a safe bet. five months is his longest relationship until he meets dirk over a decade later.   
> 3\. <3 u!


	3. [I27]: Assumed Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which siblings discuss very important matters in a very sibling-esque way.

**July, 2011**

"What are you doing?"

Dave reset the microwave after Rose's sudden presence over his shoulder startled him enough that he hit two incorrect buttons in a row. 

"Making breakfast, duh," he said, watching his pizza rolls rotate through the mesh door. He pushed the red Wayfarers back up into place after a deep yawn dislodged them from the bridge of his nose. 

"Lunch," Rose corrected. "It's two p.m." She reached under his arm to pluck a random flavoured tea bag from a canister on the counter.

"I just got up, so it's breakfast," Dave said pointedly. "Is anyone home?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? Mom's still in Washington and Bro's still in Texas. They're going to be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. We have zero adult or puppet supervision until the end of next week when Mom gets home," she said.

"Hence the breakfast pizza," he said as the microwave beeped; he took his plate out and left the door open for Rose's mug of water when he moved to sit down at the kitchen table. "What're you gonna do today?"

It was the middle of summer break and they'd been left on their own for longer than ever before. Their uncle had been in Texas for months, his latest album having taken off more than anyone had expected; he was out on tour again, and he'd called them the day before to let them know he'd sold out so many venues he'd had to add a second show in almost every city he was scheduled to visit. Their mom had been home at the beginning of their vacation, but had been called into a series of meetings and conference presentations and wasn't going to be back for a full week yet. 

Rose put her mug into the microwave then sat down across from Dave and reached over, plucking a pizza roll from the small mountain of them on his plate. 

"I want to tell you something," she announced suddenly, pausing to fan her mouth when she bit too far into the pastry. 

"Why?"

"Because you're my brother and I have a vague sense of familial affinity towards you."

"Lame," Dave said. He shoved an entire pizza roll into his mouth and chewed it quickly, trying to keep the oozing interior from resting too long against any one part of his tongue. "Fuck, hot," he muttered, picking up another roll from the pile. 

"They're hot," Rose said dismissively. "Hold on," she added, standing back up to collect her mug from the beeping microwave. 

When she sat back down, Dave pushed the plate across the table to offer her another one of his pizza rolls. She shook her head. 

"You look serious," he said, dragging the plate back to his side of the kitchen table. "Or like, annoyed. I dunno."

"I just have an unfortunate case of resting bitch face," Rose said. She took a tentative sip of her tea, but put it back down to continue steeping. "It's genetic and is combined and a lifetime of built-up annoyance provided so generously by your continued existence."

"Same," Dave said flatly, his face deliberately impassive. "What's up?"

"I'm a lesbian." 

Dave choked on a pizza roll. 

"I'm good," he said once he cleared the cheese-blockage from his throat. 

"How unfortunate," Rose said. "As I was saying, I'm a lesbian."

"I heard you," he said. "And?"

"What do you mean, _and_?"

"I thought that was like, general knowledge," he said. 

Rose frowned.

"It's more of an assumed knowledge," she said after a brief pause. "I thought I should tell you explicitly since there may or may not be more rumours than usual on the grapevine due to one of my so-called school friends flipping her figurative shit after finally putting two and two together." 

"Want me to do the typical brother thing and go apeshit on her?" Dave offered, frowning at his unexpectedly empty plate. 

"You're not exactly the intimidating brother of my wildest dreams, so I might pass on that ridiculous offer." 

"You sure? Like, I don't wanna start a fight but I'll do it if you want." 

"I'm sure. Is this newly confirmed information something you're okay knowing?" Rose asked. 

"Yeah. I don't wanna know any details because fucking gross, you're my sister. But like, the general concept is whatever with me. Like, Bro's gay, right? Who cares?" 

"The general public who think he's got a secret wife and children out there somewhere?" Rose suggested over the rim of her mug as she took a long drink of her tea. 

Dave gave a loud, involuntary snort of laughter. 

"Can you imagine Bro with a wife and kids? That's so fucked up. Hey, have you got a secret lesbian wife and kids somewhere?" 

"That is, as the saying goes, the dream." 

"So is this like, your official coming out or whatever? Because by virtue of me being me it was probably total shit," Dave said. He turned in his chair and stretched back as far as he could to drop his plate into the sink. "I'd apologise but like, you knew what you were getting into, right?" 

"A vague emotionally disconnected response from my fourteen year old brother who is more concerned with food than something integral to my entire being?" 

"Rose, come on. This is the House of Lalonde, being a huge lesbian is like, literally the least offensive thing you could be, right?" Dave said. "That and no one's ever told me they're a huge lesbian before so I have zero concept of what the appropriate response is." 

"What you didn't say is enough for me," Rose said, picking up her tea again. 

"Do I have to reciprocate and tell you something obvious but not exactly confirmed about me?" 

"Please don't." 

"Are you sure? I can like, give you a hug, I guess. Oh, that's my thing, I would totally hug people way more if it wasn't weird, but people get weird about it." 

"I said please the first time, I won't say it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next main chapter isn't done yet, so merry christmas until it is!!


	4. [A6.5A2]: my favourite five guys who don't sell burgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are sleepovers, birthday suppers, and sudden changes of heart.

**December, 2019**

Life in the city was a shock to her system after three months alone on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It was loud, crowded, and far too bright no matter what the time of day, and Jade had almost turned around to buy a return ticket on the spot. But while the real shock had taken days to wear off, she had slowly come to the realisation that everything just felt wrong. 

Her first week in London had been a blur of broken sleep, car horns, and ultimately being dragged into a doctor's office by Kanaya's very pregnant sister to have all the medications she'd run out of on the island refilled. A lengthy series of phone calls across various time zones ensued, as the local doctors tried to make contact with her company medic in Mongolia and her doctor in Seattle; eventually, almost three days later, she was able to pick up all the scripts she needed to function in a time constrained world. It was another week before she was able to keep any kind of obvious routine and in between voluntary naps and fits of restless sleep, she did what she could to help out while Rose was at work and Kanaya went to her classes, even though her attempts were so poor someone had to fix them once she was done. 

"Did you ever have sleepovers in middle school?"

Rose, occupied with running the disconcertingly small but sharp scissors over the dead skin of Jade's cuticles, shook her head in response to the question. 

"In order to have a successful sleepover, one needs friends," she said as she wiped the mess onto the carpet to be vacuumed up at a later time. "And those were in very short supply at the infamous House of Lalonde."

"Wow, that's sad," Jade replied with a frown; after so many years, it was still hard to tell when Rose was joking.

"As far as I know, you never even went to middle school," Rose pointed out. 

"I didn't _go_ to middle school but I _did_ middle school, mostly." 

"I just don't think it's the same when it's you, your grandfather, and the wild. You can't have had any real sense of the magnitude of just how vicious fourteen-year-old girls can be when you were isolated in a supportive and familial environment," Rose went on. She finished up the fingers on Jade's left hand and gestured for her to pass over the right. 

"Oh, I totally get why you didn't have any friends in middle school," Jade said, flashing a toothy grin as she put her other hand up onto the coffee table. 

"Because I'm insufferable? I know. But being forced to make do with the company of my brother gave me much the same satisfaction and allowed me to practice these most important of teenage female skills," Rose said. She waved a hand in the direction of the table, covered in an assortment of cheap nail polishes and hair accessories. "Although he only ever let me do his toes, as if nail polish was ever going to be the one single thing he was incessantly bullied over." 

"I might still have an array of conversations saved where all you did was complain about just how many people took a shine to him over you," Kanaya pitched in as she carefully placed three full mugs down amongst the chaos already on the coffee table. 

"How dare you," Rose accused without looking up from Jade's hand. "I made those complaints in confidence, not so you could parade my self-perceived inadequacies out however many years later in front of company."

"You're right, how dare I?" Kanaya mused aloud. "You've missed an entire finger, by the way."

"You definitely had friends, right?" Jade interjected in their mock argument, redirecting the question to Kanaya rather than Rose. "What were your middle school sleepovers like?"

"Every night is a sleepover when you go to boarding school, and I can assure you that a never-ending series of sleepovers is enough to drive you to do things you never thought you would," Kanaya went on as she tucked her legs underneath her on the couch. "Although, it was admittedly the ideal environment for a young lady predisposed to enjoy the company of other young ladies."

"And all I had to ogle was the cheerleading team," Rose sighed dramatically. "In comparison, our cookie-cutter middle school experiences were tame next to yours."

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Jade mused as Rose finally put the scissors down and swapped them for a glass file. "I learnt a lot of cool stuff, like zoology, and shooting, and nuclear physics, and I think three languages?"

"We took French and the only reason my mother agreed to it was because it was standard French and not Quebecois. Choose a colour."

"If you didn't have any friends," Jade started as she picked up each of the nail polish bottles in turn to examine them closely. "Where'd you learn this stuff?"

"I told you, Dave. He'd let me do his toes in exchange for attention because he's predictable like that," Rose said. "My mother, my uncle, nothing unusual. Where did you learn three languages?"

"Hm," Jade mused. "Grandpa, mostly, but also just from being in places where we had to know at least _some_ of the language? He could speak maybe six languages enough that we never really got stuck. Except that one time, I guess, but even that worked out okay in the end," she added off-handedly, pushing a deep forest-green bottle across the table towards Rose. 

From the carpet next to her, Bec let out a low whine and a yawn at the mention of Grandpa; Jade reached over to scratch him gently behind the ears. 

"I ask this as the reigning Queen of not being entirely okay in life," Rose said cautiously. "But, are you okay?"

Jade opened her mouth to answer with the first response that came to mind - of course she was okay, when wasn't she okay? - but the expression on Rose's face was too familiar, in a jarringly unexpected way. It was the same expression she'd seen so often in the last few months, on her brothers' face, during countless late-night Facetime calls. It was the expression on Dave's face every time she asked about John and how he was doing, really, because he never told her directly that he wasn't okay. But on Rose, the expression was new, something unexpected; it wasn't worn into the lines of her face the way it was on Dave after months of deep-seated worry about John. She didn't know if anyone had ever noticed that similarity between them before, the same line forming between their eyebrows when they frowned just so.

It was too much already that the expression had become so familiar on Dave.

"Kind of?" Jade said, realising in the moment that even after three months alone on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, she didn't know if she was okay. "I miss Grandpa, just, _so much_ , and I still have so much to do because of all the things he left behind, like work, and the island, and all his stuff, and I'm not sure what to do about any of it? I want to go back to work and be busy all the time doing research and science and making a difference in the world, but I also kind of want to go back to the island and listen to the ocean forever and never come back. But, I guess I kind of want to go home to Seattle, too, but now John's not there and Papa's only there half the time so it's all different?"

"Unfortunately," Rose sighed as she dropped the nail file onto the table and swapped it for the cup of tea Kanaya had brought in earlier. "It sounds like you have a terminal case of growing up."

"That sounds fatal," Jade replied sadly, following Rose's lead and picking up the third mug still sitting on the coffee table. 

As soon as the words were out, she realised she had no idea if she meant them sarcastically or not.

"A higher fatality rate than ebola," Rose confirmed. 

Her tea was still warm, and it was sweet, and it was somehow almost exactly the sensation she needed. They sat for a moment after that, with the sounds of road traffic and an unknown TV show on in the background. 

"Are you sure this is what you want to do for your birthday?" Jade asked a few minutes later, once her tea was half gone. 

"What kind of newly twenty-four year old woman wouldn't want a sleepover with her wife, common-law sister, a service dog, and three cats?"

As usual, Rose's rhetorical hung in the air for a moment while Jade tried to figure out just how genuine the statement was; there was one obvious tell, more obvious than ever before. 

The line between her brows had faded into nothing.

+++

\-- pipefan413 [pipefan413] opened memo on board ENROUTE? at 19:06 EST--

pipefan413: ENROUTE VIA CAB. EVERYONE CHECK IN IF POSSIBLE.   
TG: here already   
GT: me too! we got the balloons!   
TG: and cake  
TG: i was supposed to buy a cake right   
pipefan413: NEGATIVE. CAKE IS ALREADY WITH THE RESTAURANT AS PER EARLIER INSTRUCTIONS. WAS THAT A JOKE?   
TG: yeah   
pipefan413: NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES.   
TT: Chipping in on the stern fatherly disappointment front, that's some bad timing on the joke. Enroute via Uber, ETA less than five.   
TG: youll see us  
TG: big table  
TG: big balloons   
TT: Your big ego?   
TG: ouch   
GG: on standby with rose!! dave's got his ipad ready so we can facetime :D :D   
pipefan413: ALL GOING TO PLAN. ETA FIFTEEN MINUTES FACTORING IN USUAL TRAFFIC CONDITIONS.   
TG: all g  
TG: im ordering breadsticks btw  
TG: and by ordering i mean i already ordered them   
pipefan413: REFRAIN FROM HAVING A MOUTHFUL OF BREAD WHEN WE ARRIVE.   
TT: See? You can't take him anywhere. Is it my fault? Sure. But you'd think by now he'd have a grasp on basic etiquette regardless of the shitty job I did raising him in isolation.   
GT: i see jake!   
TT: Yeah, we're just walking in now. Looks like we're all waiting on you two now, Egbert.   
pipefan413: PUTTING PHONE AWAY TO LOWER ALREADY WILD SUSPICIONS.

+++

"I didn't say anything," John said quickly as he locked his phone. Of the four people who were already seated around the table, he knew he was the most likely to have spilled everything he knew about Roxy's surprise birthday party. 

"No one said anything, kiddo," Dirk replied as he put his own phone face down on the table. "But she probably knows anyway." 

"Why?"

"Because she knows everything."

"That's true," Dave pitched in through a mouthful of breadstick. "She always knows when I'm gonna do some dumbfuck B. S. like an hour before I do it, she always has."

"Yeah, but that's because you're always like an hour away from doing something dumb," John replied. "Like that time you tried to snowboard on the highway." 

Dave just punched his upper-arm in response, feigning an exaggerated frown.

"Snow, hill, snowboard, the boonies, what else was I gonna do?"

"We've just come from the new flat," Jake interrupted before Dave could say anything else. "That living room is starting to come together, isn't it? What do you say we go shopping for a television next week? I'll be here for a night, I think it's Tuesday but I can't remember, I've got a lecture to deliver at some ungodly hour the next morning so it's easier to get in the night before, if that's alright with you."

"Cool," John said. He'd only put his phone down a few minutes earlier and was already fighting the urge to pick it back up again just for something to do with his hands. 

"You're positive it's alright if we both stay tonight?" Jake asked more seriously. "The deal was always just me, not the entire household."

That was the deal, and it had been from the beginning. But John had accepted it knowing there would be times when Dirk stayed as well, and he was okay with that; he really was, despite the almost too-long pause he gave in response to the question. 

"Yeah, but I get Hal," he said eventually.

"Whoa, hold up," Dirk interjected. "You can't call shotgun on a dog that isn't yours."

"He totally just did though," Dave said, a cocky grin plastered onto his face. "You're not _upset_ your hellbeast might actually want some doggy independence now he's growing up, huh?"

"Technically, he's got a good four months left before he's all grown up," Jake pointed out. "Hard to believe, I know, he's definitely chunkier than most but that's most likely because _someone_ still isn't ready to admit we can move him to an adult meal schedule."

"Hey, now's the perfect time," Dave went on, checking his phone again even though everyone else had put theirs down. "You fucked off on me when I had four years left until technical adulthood, why should your fourth kid get special treatment?"

"Because I let the first one do whatever he wanted and look how that turned out," Dirk quipped. "Thirty-two years later and he's still living in my fucking basement." 

"Yeah, it's a total fuckin' miracle I haven't succumbed entirely to a fatal case of middle-child syndrome yet."

"I feel like I should mention this before anyone goes a bit too far in their less than witty banter," Jake said, as he raised a hand to catch the attention of a passing waiter. "But you should all be warned that _your father_ hasn't had a cigarette in over three weeks and will absolutely turn on you with zero warning. Right, drinks. Could we get two of your most local craft ales?" 

"Again with the _your father_ shit when he's doing something that sucks ass for everyone. I don't want him, I had like the least say in being related to him out of everyone here. Make it three," Dave pitched in. "John, you want in?" 

Somewhere in the middle of their conversation, John had tuned out Dave's voice and picked up his phone just for something else to do. He opened Jade's chat window but she was idle again, no doubt distracted by one of Kanaya's countless houseplants or the prospect of raiding what would no doubt be a disappointing fridge. There was nothing new on Instagram and his Facebook had been pretty quiet since he'd deleted or blocked almost everyone he'd ever friended on the site. There was a single text from Jake in his inbox, sent just three minutes earlier, saying that he could just reply to the message if he changed his mind about Dirk and Hal staying in the apartment overnight, in case it felt too weird to admit out loud. 

Jake was the best uncle he'd ever had; admittedly, there wasn't really any competition that he'd ever known, but John mentally awarded him a plaque for the effort anyway. 

Dave kicked him under the table. 

"What?" 

"Drink?" 

"Oh, yeah. Yeah." 

"Four," Jake corrected his order with the waiter. "And we'd better make it another round of bread sticks, considering someone's eaten most of them already." 

John tapped out a short reply - it's totally cool! just don't even think about eating all of my oat meal! :B \- then loaded the most recent group chat they were all in to check out where his Dad was. 

"Hey, they're almost here! Did you get me a drink?" John asked once he'd put his phone back down to peer out the restaurant window. 

"Yeah, dude. You said you wanted one," Dave said from beside him as he flipped open his iPad case. 

"I wasn't really listening," he admitted. "What did I get?"

"I dunno, whatever Pops ordered for us. You okay?" 

Dave asked the question more quietly than the rest of his sentence, half under his breath as he set up the iPad case to stand on its own while Facetime dialled Rose's account. 

"Yeah, I was just texting Jade instead of listening." 

"You sure?" 

"It's Roxy's birthday, Dave. I'm not going to like, kill myself during a birthday party," John said with a grin to emphasise just how much he was joking. "That's the worst gift ever."

+++

When he'd first asked what she wanted to do for her birthday, Roxy had started listing off a wild array of over-the-top possibilities that were all met with so much laughter they earned a stern glare from an elderly woman across the plane aisle. She'd started piecing together his real plan not long after that as the information came out piece by piece, depending who she was talking to and just how quickly they changed the subject. 

When she saw them all sitting there, around a large table at the not-so-intimate Italian restaurant he'd promised her in the taxi, she squeezed his hand before she dropped it to greet her family with nothing less than the raw enthusiasm she reserved for the handful of them. 

It was a flurry of excitement as she moved around the table. A kiss on the cheek for her brother and his husband in turn, as well as an attempted hug from Jake without him turning fully in his chair. Her own husband sat down in the empty chair beside Dirk, as John slid over on the bench to make space for her between him and Dave. 

"Aren't I lucky?" Roxy asked with a laugh as she kissed John's forehead, brushing his overgrown bangs back as she did. "So it's just me and five dudes for dinner, huh? Like don't get me wrong, you're probably my favourite five guys who don't sell burgers, but there's a serious hormone imbalance in favour of testosterone at this table."

"Rose is on the phone," Dave pointed out. He adjusted the iPad to make it more obvious. 

"Okay, but that doesn't balance out the stench, baby," she said seriously, swatting his hand away from the device. "Hi," she crooned, waving at the three girls grinning at her through the Facetime call. "Isn't it asshole o'clock in London?"

"We're having a sleepover, we're meant to be up all night," Rose said, leaning over the end of the couch before reappearing in frame with a black cat in one arm. "But I received a large sum of money in my bank account this morning which I assumed was a bribe so I thought it worthwhile to answer this call."

"Birthday gift," Dirk pitched in from across the table. "A bribe would have been bigger."

"It did seem like a pathetic amount for a bribe," Rose mused out loud. "Why would you even need to bribe me?" 

"Shit, Rosie, the table's going through a tunnel, we're losing you," Dave said, picking up the iPad to shake it. "Fuck, Harley, what's that? We can't hear you."

"I didn't say anything, Dave!" Jade's voice came clearly through the call.

"It almost looks as if he's just waving his iPad around in public," Kanaya's voice followed. 

"What? Can't hear you," Dave said again. "Quick, Mom, last chance because I'm gonna die if I don't get to shove pasta in my face within the next fifteen minutes."

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to you all later," Roxy laughed as all three girls obviously rolled their eyes when Dave shook the iPad so hard it almost fell out of his hands. "Bye, bye, bye, love you all," she added, blowing kisses until the call was finally disconnected. "And no, we can't order just yet, baby, I promise you won't die. Have another breadstick," she added bluntly, passing the basket back across the table. "Your birthday was yesterday, today's all about me."

"And Rose," Dave interjected as he begrudgingly tore a third breadstick in half. 

"And Rosie, but she's having a sleepover with her friends. So, my birthday," Roxy announced. "I know it's hard to believe because I _absolutely_ don't look it, but I'm fifty this year and holy shit, fifty, right? And I mean, did I ever think I'd be here at fifty? No, that's the only correct answer because no one can imagine fifty until they're almost there, and it's not like I had a mid-life crisis in the last few years to help remind everyone I know I was gonna be fifty. Like, I got that out of the way in my early twenties. And for you two sweet, innocent babies," Roxy said, pausing her speech just long enough to kiss both John and Dave once each on the cheek. "I know you've heard this kind of thing over and over, but our lives were so different when we were your age, like, _fuck_. We're talking what, '93? I was in college. College! Ooh, quick, what were we all doing in '93?"

"College," Dirk pitched in. "No, hang on, not by December. I graduated at the end of the school year, I guess I was just fucking around and trying to make rent. Might've still been at the record store, I can't remember when I quit."

"Why'd you quit?" John asked.

"Something about fighting the man, sticking it to capitalism, I don't know. We're talking my peak asshole years here, could've been anything," he shrugged, hand-waving the question away. "So, grad school?"

Jake blinked, as the obvious shoulder nudge from Dirk caught his attention. 

"How old was I?"

"Twenty-one. Just turned twenty-two," Roxy supplied.

"Definitely university then," Jake said, furrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to recall. "I think I'd either just started or just finished my Masters'. Finished? Started? Look, I was trying very hard to complete a very complex degree without the assistance of what was, in retrospect, very necessary medication. And all that while balancing the incredible artform that is wooing a lady or two."

"And how'd that end?" Dirk sniggered; despite the jab, he moved to rest a familiar hand on Jake's thigh. 

"Rapidly," Jake admitted. "Next." 

"Don't look at me," Dave shrugged, tearing off another chunk of bread with his teeth. "That puts me like three years too early to even be hanging out in his ba - " 

"Please do _not_ finish that sentence if you know what's good for you, baby," Roxy interrupted sweetly, patting his cheek. "Honey? '93." 

"Oh, nothing interesting to report. I was working by then," he said, looking up from the menu. "It was a good time," he added more thoughtfully. "My brother was just married if I recall correctly, and I took my first vacation to be there for the event. We all spent three weeks in a remote part of Barbados, if you believe it."

"No way," John said incredulously. "Barbados?"

"The three week vacation is the more obvious lie but go off, I guess," Dave pitched in. "Have you finished yet, Mom?"

"My speech? Almost," Roxy said, sitting up a little straighter once their attention was all on her once more. "Anyway, our lives were so hard, we were walking uphill in the snow both ways to college."

"You lived on an ivy-league campus and I was in Texas," Dirk pointed out, his grin far too cocky for someone who wasn't celebrating their birthday. 

"Shh. Anyway, I had my mid-life crisis not long after that - "

"Her name is Rose, Mom, jeez," Dave said. 

"I love you all, I do, but shut up and let me finish," Roxy said with a small scowl. She held out her hands until John and Dave took one each, then squeezed their fingers a little too tightly before continuing her story. "So I had my mid-life crisis and because of that, I got married, divorced, had Rosie, won the house, and convinced my baby brother to move back home to baby-sit, all in about a year and a half. We're talking major crisis mode here, right? But my bad decisions gave me Rosie, forced me to focus more on work where I earned like, six immediate promotions that sent me to some very memorable conferences, gave Dirk a safe place to hide his accidental spawn, and now we're all here. I totally had a point I wanted to make but that was ten minutes ago, and now I don't wanna cry so can someone find a waiter while I pretend I'm not already crying a little bit?"

When she let go of the boys' hands, John's immediately went to his phone; Roxy saw him open Jade's conversation briefly before he locked the screen again and swapped the device for his copy of the menu. On her other side, though, Dave's arm wound itself around hers as he leant his head down on her shoulder. 

"Love you, Mom," he mumbled. 

"Love you too, baby," she said, working her arm free so she could wrap it around him instead. "What did you end up doing last night?"

"Me 'n Rez watched _The Office_ until midnight and ate way too many Cheetos. She got me this rad jacket though, it's like, you know that old denim jacket Bro gave me that used to be his? That, but somehow uglier and it's got a shitty painting of a bird on the back so it's totally perfect."

"Sounds it," Roxy said, the arm around her son reaching up to brush back his overgrown bangs. "That's all you did?"

"Yeah. I mean sure, I could've thrown a rager and invited all what, like eight million of my closest online friends but fuck, it'd just be embarrassing to get shut down by the cops on my birthday, y'know?"

"You gotta live a little eventually," she laughed, fingers still playing with his hair. 

"Nah, I'm good. Karkat got me some camera film."

"Just the film?"

"He says he got me an old Nikon but he hid it somewhere in his room and forgot where, so I'm getting it whenever Terezi trips over it," Dave said. "Like, what an absolute _dickhead_ , right? He got it for me because he did enough Googling to know I can use all my current lenses with it because they're all back compatible, which is just like, so lame." 

"Very lame," she said with a smile, pressing a kiss into his hair. "Now tell the nice lady which kind of pasta you'd like to inhale."

Dave did. They went around the table after that, each ordering their food as the waiter wrote down their choices. She smiled and reached over to pat John's knee when his dad reiterated that he was highly allergic to nuts, just in case, and John just grinned sheepishly after a lifetime of Dad interrupting him in restaurants. 

"Okay," Dirk said authoritatively once the waiter had turned to take their orders back to the kitchen. "My turn," he added, reaching down between his chair and Jake's. "It's fair to say I've known you the longest, with a solid forty-eight years of evidence to back it up. A literal lifetime. And yes, I'm going to make you cry on your birthday because I have forty-eight years of experience in knowing what makes you cry. I've spent the vast majority of nearly five decades thanking whatever vengeful overlords exist in the far corners of paradox space that we ended up navigating a childhood under the same roof," Dirk went on as he lifted a well-worn box up onto the table. "Because for fifteen years, we lived under a system we were both so incompatible with that when you got out, I almost lost my fucking mind. And I would have if it wasn't for the good men and women of the United States Postal Service who brought me your news from the so-called outside world right up until the day before I blew that joint and beyond."

Roxy was staring at her brother, determined not to cry; but, as always, he was right, and she was finding it almost impossible to keep the glassy tears from rolling down her cheeks. She didn't cry when he spoke, didn't cry as he lifted the edge of the Adidas high-top sneaker box over and over with the tip of his pinky finger.

She remembered him buying the shoes that had originally been in that box; she'd been the one to drive him to the mall. 

"Oh _God_ , don't," she said with a smile, reaching out to press the lid of the box closed again as he tried to open it; she closed her hand over his when she did. 

"There are so many magazine cut-outs of shirtless teen hearthrobs in this box, you kids have no fuckin' idea," Dirk said, his grin matching his sisters'. "Also, like, angsty teen letters we used to send back and forth because it was way more secure to send mail between her dorm and my best friends' house than it was to use the phone in the hallway. I want them back when you're done, obviously, but I thought I'd give you the experience."

"So generous," Roxy said. She squeezed his hand and let go, leaving the box in the middle of the table with the full intention of opening it over dessert regardless of her earlier protests. 

"Also, I'm paying tonight so go nuts," Dirk said with a shrug. "Who's next?" 

Roxy laughed when Jake presented her with a hand-written gift voucher to his backyard shooting range complete with ladies' choice of weapon, and hugged John tightly when she unwrapped a Collectors' Edition of Majora's Mask for the Nintendo 64. She reached across the table and grasped her husband's hand when he announced that they were staying in the city overnight. 

"My turn," Dave said, sliding a wrapped gift from his satchel. "Tears are totally guaranteed." 

When she tore open the paper to reveal the book inside, Dave shifted his chair closer to hers once more. 

"Oh, _baby _," she said quietly, opening the first page of the photo album to find a polaroid of her and Dirk at what had to be maybe eight years old and dressed up for Halloween. "Where did you get them all?"__

__"Bro, mostly, he's got like eight hard drives of family photos plus all the prints. I've got a lot, too, but like none that old. Also, weird fact we all tend to just ignore," he added as she flipped the page to a photo of her nursing a newborn Rose. "We have literally zero baby photos of me so I photoshopped a pair of RayBans onto some of Rose because we probably had the same face and I mostly wore her clothes until I started kindergarten anyway. That's the first real one," he added, pointing to one of the photos._ _

__It was of him, three years old with most of his hair cropped into a buzzcut, curled up and sleeping on Dirk's chest._ _

__"I took that," Roxy said quietly. "It was your second night at home."_ _

__"Yeah, Bro said. After that, they're all actually me though, not photoshopped Rose," Dave explained as she skimmed over photos of living room forts, kids up to their eyeballs in mid-winter snowfalls, and her much younger self attempting to tutor third grade math revision. "Wait for it," he added._ _

__When she turned the page once more, there was a remarkably similar picture set staring back at her; kitchen table, two kids, elementary school homework. But instead of the two pale blonde heads staring down at their worksheets, the children at the table had dark, messy hair and glasses slipping down their noses._ _

__"And she's crying," Dirk said from across the restaurant table, laughing as he tossed a napkin towards her._ _

__"Oh yeah, I asked the Egberts for some of theirs, too," Dave said, grinning at John who was leaning in to look at all the photos over Roxy's other shoulder. "I mean, I just got photos of a couple of dorks from the Pacific North-West for all the effort, but I tried y'know?"_ _

__Roxy pressed a kiss to his temple, then pushed him away with a laugh as she used her other hand to blot away her tears without smearing mascara all across her cheeks._ _

__"Anyway, you all suck and this is the worst birthday week ever," she said. "Let's totally stop talking about me now, quick, what did everyone else get for birthday week?"_ _

__"Dope sneakers from some dork straight outta Washington," Dave said as he reached for another breadstick when a waiter walked past their table with an armful of pasta intended for someone else. He folded his leg up so his heel was resting on the edge of the bench seat, and gestured to the Nike Air Force's on his feet._ _

__"All I got was a card from my idiot son," Dirk said. "He didn't even make it himself, it looks like he bought it from some trashy Gen Z online artist named Dave Lalonde. Anyway, it's up on the fridge next to the electricity bill."_ _

__Roxy laughed when Dave frowned at Dirk across the table, clearly put out by his obviously feigned indifference towards the card. She knew that her family was unconventional, and that there was no other group of people she could so consistently rely on to make her heart swell with an endless stream of over the top affection._ _

__"An 1864 Civil War musket in surprisingly good condition," Jake said, glancing at Dirk. "Very functional but I might spend a bit of time restoring it before really testing it out. Oh, and one of those awful hipster cards, except I put mine on my desk."_ _

__And then there was Jake, the perfect counterbalance._ _

__When their meals finally emerged from the kitchen another twenty minutes later, she snorted into her glass of soda water when their waiter rushed an apology that Dave's pasta was the only one still cooking._ _

____

+++

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 02:38 --

GT: hi karkat!  
CG: JOHN, WHAT THE FUCK? IT'S THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.  
GT: so why are you awake?  
CG: BECAUSE UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE, I HAVEN'T HAD A BEDTIME SINCE I WAS SIX.  
GT: that's just irresponsible parenting though?  
CG: FOR THE LAST TIME, NO ONE ELSE I KNOW HAD A BEDTIME IN THE TENTH GRADE.  
GT: you knew me in the tenth grade.  
CG: I SAID NO ONE ELSE. WHAT DO YOU WANT AT THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING?  
GT: well no one else is awake for one but mostly i wanted to ask you something anyway so it kind of all worked out.  
GT: wait, you didn't really answer my question. why are you awake?  
CG: BECAUSE I HAVE INSOMNIA AND IT'S KICKING MY ASS.  
GT: that sucks. so i went to class today and taught three freshman tutorials then had two full hours of practice, and then i bought a matcha latte which was nice because i think it was only twenty five degrees today? anyway i was waiting for my train home and i saw vriska on the other platform.  
CG: JOHN. I KNOW I SAY THIS A LOT AND IT'S GETTING OLD, BUT WHAT THE FUCK? WHY DIDN'T YOU OPEN WITH THAT SAY, TEN HOURS AGO WHEN IT HAPPENED?  
GT: because i puked up my latte in a trash can and then watched all of season three of parks and rec when i got home so i was busy.  
CG: NOT EXACTLY THE HEALTHIEST OF COPING MECHANISMS BUT FUCK IF I HAVEN'T DONE WORSE THIS WEEK. WHAT THE FUCK, JOHN, DID YOU TELL ANYONE OR AM I THE FIRST ONE BLESSED TO HEAR THIS CURSED KNOWLEDGE?  
GT: yeah it's you, you're cursed.  
CG: ARE YOU OKAY?  
GT: no i puked up my latte and watched a whole season of parks and rec.  
CG: AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME BECAUSE?  
GT: well rose is awake because it's a normal time for her but she's busy because her flight home is today, and i'm kind of sick of talking to her about this stuff? dave doesn't always get it but you're a guy who has feelings and sometimes talks about them without making it a big joke like he does?  
CG: YOU KNOW HE ONLY DOES THAT AS A DEFENCE MECHANISM. IF YOU JUST KEEP PRODDING HIM THE GLASSES COME OFF AND YOU GET A DELUGE OF FEELINGS THAT HAVE BUILT UP SINCE THE LAST TIME YOU PRODDED HARD ENOUGH TO START SAID DELUGE.  
GT: see, you get feelings even when they're dumb and stupid and these are stupid dumb feelings.   
CG: ARE YOU SURE IT WAS HER?  
GT: what do you mean?  
CG: I MEAN, ARE YOU SURE IT WAS HER?  
GT: like am i imagining it? you think i'm just imagining that i saw her again?  
CG: NO, I'M NOT THAT MUCH OF AN ASSHOLE. BUT WHAT IF IT WAS JUST SOMEONE WHO LOOKED LIKE HER? ISN'T THAT MORE LIKELY?  
GT: is that more or less likely than her stalking me?  
CG: HONESTLY, GOOD FUCKING QUESTION. SHE'D 100% STALK YOU UNTIL YOU TALKED TO HER AGAIN, BUT IF THAT'S WHAT SHE'S DOING, IT'S A FUCKING TRAP. DO NOT ENGAGE, ETC. ETC.  
GT: bluh. why do i still feel so fucked up about her????????  
CG: BECAUSE YOU HAD A REALLY FUCKED UP RELATIONSHIP, JOHN. YOU GET THAT, RIGHT? LIKE FOR ALL THE PSYCHOBABBLE ROSE HAS PUT INTO YOUR HEAD ABOUT THIS, EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU AND VRISKA BEING TOGETHER IN WHATEVER CONTEXT YOU WANT TO CALL IT WAS MORE TOXIC THAN THE CHERNOBYL REACTOR, AND THAT'S ENCASED IN SOLID CONCRETE TO PREVENT THE MELTDOWN FROM POISONING THE REST OF US. EXCEPT HERE VRISKA IS THE TOXIC WASTE, YOU'RE THE CONCRETE, AND YOU'RE JUST DOING WHATEVER IT IS YOU DO TO KEEP THE POISON IN.  
GT: i think i'm ready to just, like, stop. you know? that's what i wanted to ask you how to do. i wasted six bucks today because i threw up a whole matcha latte into the trash. so what if i saw a girl on the subway who kind of looked like my shitty ex-girlfriend? that's what i have to do, right? just stop caring?  
CG: NO, THAT'S HOW YOU END UP LIKE SOLLUX.  
GT: but he's got a girlfriend.  
CG: AND SHE'S AS APATHETIC AS HE IS, THEY'LL MAKE BABIES WHO GIVE SO FEW FUCKS THEY'LL BE IMPOSSIBLE TO KEEP ALIVE. YOU CAN CARE, AND IT CAN MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO THROW UP, AS LONG AS IT'S BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT WAS A SHITTY SITUATION TO BE IN. BECAUSE IT WAS A SHITTY SITUATION, JOHN. LET ME MAKE THAT CLEAR TO YOU RIGHT FUCKING NOW. FOR A LONG TIME, IT WAS A REALLY SHITTY SITUATION.  
GT: yeah, but like. it was, but also it wasn't? because when she's not a huge bitch she's a big dork who likes dnd and makes really good hot chocolates and wants to stay up all night watching movies.  
CG: I GET IT, JOHN. YOU LIKED HER. A LOT. AND I'M ENTIRELY WILLING TO ADMIT I'VE DONE DUMB AS FUCK SHIT IN THE PAST WHEN I LIKED SOMEONE. EXAMPLE A: WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN I LIKED SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T LIKE ME BACK SO I STARTED A FISTFIGHT WITH THEM INSTEAD.  
GT: that does sound like you :B  
CG: EXAMPLE B: I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU THE DETAILS OF EXAMPLE B BECAUSE IT ISN'T RELEVANT BEYOND THE FACT THAT I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TEREZI HAS EVER ASKED ME TO DO THAT I HAVEN'T DONE AT LEAST ONCE.  
GT: gross dude, no one wants to know. but it's like this whole mess has fucked me up so bad that i don't know where the badness ends.  
CG: THAT'S NORMAL, I THINK. PEOPLE ARE GENERALLY MORE FUCKED UP THAN YOU THINK.  
GT: yeah like how messed up it is that terezi actually likes you.  
CG: EXACTLY. DO YOU REALLY THINK IT WAS HER?  
GT: i really think i wanted it to be her. but i think i wanted it to be her because i want to say good bye? is that super fucked up?  
CG: I THINK THAT'S THE LEAST FUCKED UP REACTION YOU'VE HAD TO THE MENTION OF HER NAME IN OVER SIX MONTHS, JOHN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 u. thanks for all the feedback, love it all so much!!


	5. [I28]: Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two dumbass teen boys almost get somewhat close to talking about things that matter instead of their regularly scheduled bullshit.

**November, 2013**

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 14:26 --

CG: NUMBER ONE, I'M CALLING A TRUCE FOR A FULL HOUR. NUMBER TWO, I NEED YOU TO REREAD THE PART WHERE I SAID A FULL HOUR AND LET IT SINK INTO YOUR THICK SKULL.   
CG: HEY.  
CG: HELLO???  
CG: FUCK OFF, I KNOW YOU JUST GOT A 5S THERE'S NO WAY YOUR GRUBBY MITTS AREN'T ALL OVER IT 24/7.   
TG: oh my god are you seriously blowing a gasket just because i didnt reply to you literally immediately  
TG: its only been like   
TG: an hour haha justified  
TG: shit truce okay  
TG: sorry i was at practice  
TG: we couldnt find the janitor so we started late then ran late it was a whole thing  
CG: WHY DO YOU NEED A JANITOR JUST SO YOU CAN START RUNNING IN CIRCLES?  
TG: because he wont let us use his snowblower to clear off the track duh  
TG: the last time he let someone do that was like 1997 and he had to get a new one  
TG: anyway whats up you called truce  
TG: you want me to hang around while you rant or let you run your mouth off while i drive home  
CG: OPTION B IS BETTER FOR ME, HONESTLY.  
TG: k well you shoot ill drive and if you change your mind call me and ill pull over  
CG: OKAY. YOU KNOW THAT I'M NOTHING IF NOT GRACIOUS WHEN SOMEONE WANTS TO START SHIT, WHICH IS A BIG FUCKING LIE BUT WHATEVER, I HAVE AN HOUR OF YOUR UNDIVIDED ATTENTION MINUS THE SARCASM SO I'M FRAMING THE STORY HOWEVER I WANT.   
CG: SO I WAS BEING INCREDIBLY GRACIOUS BY NOT SLAMMING THIS CLOWN'S HEAD INTO HIS DESK, MOSTLY BECAUSE IT WOULD MEAN GOING BACK FOR ANOTHER ROUND OF THERAPY AND IF THAT KNOWLEDGE IS ALL THAT KEEPS A KID FROM NEEDING A NOSE RECONSTRUCTION THEN FUCK, I GUESS THE SECOND ROUND WORKED.   
CG: THE POINT HERE IS THAT I REALLY WANTED TO FORCE THE BRIDGE OF HIS NOSE RIGHT THOUGH HIS DESK FOR CALLING ME A FAGGOT, AGAIN, LIKE IT'S STILL 1994 OR SOMETHING AND THAT'S A GENUINE THING TO BE FUCKED OFF ABOUT.  
CG: AND I'M THERE DRIVING MY PEN SOMETHING LIKE HALF AN INCH DEEP INTO MY OWN DESK INSTEAD OF GETTING UP AND ACTUALLY FORCING CARTLIDGE TO MEET PLYWOOD, RIGHT?  
CG: AND IT'S LIKE, SO WHAT? WHY AM I EVEN MAD ABOUT THIS? HE'S HALF RIGHT ANYWAY, AM I EVEN ALLOWED TO BE OVER HERE GETTING MAD ABOUT IT IF HE'S HALF RIGHT?   
CG: SO ANYWAY, I WENT TO THE BATHROOM AND PUNCHED A MIRROR THAT WAS ALREADY CRACKED INSTEAD OF RUINING SOMEONE'S FACE WHICH COUNTS AS A WIN IN ALL THIS.  
TG: yeah it does  
TG: change of plans im at burger king but dw im eating in the car keep going  
CG: I'M ALMOST FINISHED ANYWAY. THE OVERARCHING IDEA HERE IS THAT I THINK I'M DONE. FINISHED. I'M ANGRY ABOUT THIS SHIT, YEAH, BUT IT FEELS LIKE IT WAS A NORMAL HUMAN REACTION TO BEING CALLED SOMETHING OFFENSIVE INSTEAD OF AN OFF THE HANDLE KNEE-JERK REACTION SOMEWHERE IN THE KEY OF FUCK YOU SOCIETY?  
TG: well yeah youre a lot more predictable now i guess is the word right  
TG: its not like thats something anyone would just take without getting pissed off  
TG: wait what do you mean half right  
CG: I MEAN HE WAS ONLY HALF WRONG.  
TG: haha cool okay  
CG: ...THAT'S IT?  
TG: what do you mean thats it  
TG: if he was only half wrong means he was also half right   
TG: right  
CG: IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL, SURE.   
TG: yeah so i stand by the okay cool comment  
CG: FUCK, OKAY, DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?  
TG: nah i got it lmao  
TG: big deal  
TG: my sister is a lesbian my uncle is gay as fuck and my mom is embarassingly open about sharing which a list hollywood actors are hot  
TG: who cares  
CG: WHO CARES?  
TG: exactly who cares  
TG: i mean   
TG: i care dude way to go  
TG: that sure is a big thing to figure out about yourself huh  
TG: but i dont care care  
TG: was that a bad reaction because if it is im now three for three on bad reactions to someone coming out  
TG: i told rose i thought it was already general knowledge she was a big fan of lady bits  
TG: and i laughed in the face of this kid on my track team when he told me  
TG: but like   
TG: you know what im like  
TG: it was that dumb involuntary reaction laugh  
TG: you told terezi right  
CG: OF COURSE I FUCKING TOLD HER. SHE SAID, AND I QUOTE, "TH4T WOULD B3 HOT 1F YOU W3R3".  
TG: haha that sounds like her  
TG: sorry were still on a truce right  
TG: fuck im the worst person to talk to about this shit  
CG: I CAN HEAR THE DUMB INVOLUNTARY LAUGHTER FROM HERE, AND THAT'S OVER THE SOUNDS OF YOUR SHITBOX CAR IDLING.  
TG: its not my fault i was raised by a pair of liberal lunatics to not give a fuck about who wants to stick their dick in what  
TG: like that sure was a stroke of fucking luck  
TG: side note were not talking about either of the aforementioned liberal lunatics today fuck them both  
CG: SO YOU OBVIOUSLY WANT TO TALK ABOUT THEM. GO AHEAD, IT'S A NICE CHANGE OF PACE FROM ME HOGGING TRUCE TIME.  
TG: nah im good  
TG: moms home but def wasted hence the late afternoon burger king instead of an at least vaguely nutritional meal after like eight miles of track and hurdles and shit  
TG: bros home next week for thanksgiving and idk how i feel about seeing him again etc etc refer to previous breakdowns over personal identity  
CG: SAME.   
TG: you actually good tho dude  
CG: I THINK SO? IT WAS ALMOST SATISFYING WHEN I REALISED I ACTUALLY HAD A REASON TO BE ANGRY INSTEAD OF IT JUST BEING SOME MORE BULLSHIT IN MY HEAD? THAT'S A THING.  
TG: cool progress  
TG: legit  
TG: you want a laugh  
CG: MAYBE.  
TG: ask me what im wearing  
CG: IN CASE THIS HASN'T EVER BEEN MADE CLEAR ENOUGH TO YOU, BI DOESN'T MEAN INTO YOU. IT MEANS I'D FUCK BOTH TEREZI AND/OR LIAM HEMSWORTH GIVEN THE CHANCE.  
TG: hahaha no shit dude  
TG: i know what it means  
TG: fucking awkward  
TG: i meant me  
TG: not you or what you said  
TG: do it though ask me  
CG: DID YOU HEAR THAT? IT WAS ME, SIGHING DRAMATICALLY, PLAYING INTO YOUR STUPID GAMES. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING, DAVE? ENLIGHTEN ME.  
TG: ny rangers beanie   
TG: hoodie from princeton rose sent me   
TG: snow boots  
TG: and the piece de resistance dress code violating running shorts because my legs grew again and i havent bought new ones yet  
CG: WHAT SPORT DO THE RANGERS PLAY, DAVE.  
TG: football  
TG: you were supposed to laugh  
CG: I LAUGHED, BUT NOT FOR THE REASON YOU EXPECTED.  
TG: fuck you too moral support hour is over  
CG: ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T WANT THE SPOTLIGHT BEFORE IT'S REALLY OVER?  
TG: yeah not today  
TG: i got a lot going on but its nothing i cant handle  
TG: you good with all your shit  
CG: AT THIS RATE OF PROGRESS I MIGHT EVEN GRADUATE HERE INSTEAD OF HAVING TO GO TO A FOURTH HIGH SCHOOL.  
TG: i meant the other shit  
CG: YEAH. FOR FUCK'S SAKE THOUGH, DON'T EVER TELL KANKRI IF ONLY BECAUSE THEN I'LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT. HELL THIS, HELL THAT, ETC. UNTIL I DIE.  
TG: no prob  
TG: dont ever use my shit reaction against me and were even  
CG: I'M GOING TO USE THAT AGAINST YOU EVERY CHANCE I GET.  
TG: unfair no one else in my family is this fucking awkward i never had someone teach me how to fake it  
CG: POINTING OUT HOW AWKWARD YOU'VE MADE EVERYTHING IS THE KIND OF THING THAT MAKES IT WORSE, FOR THE RECORD.  
CG: NOW THE TRUCE IS OFFICIALLY OVER.  
TG: thank fuck   
TG: because you really need to know this  
TG: but  
TG: hemsworth wasnt even that good in catching fire

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] has blocked turntechGodhead [TG]! --

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love u let's talk thanks for hanging around until this point!!


	6. [A6.5A3]: it's very gryffindor of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are hangover, hangouts, and happy Christmas times ahead.

**December, 2019**

There weren't many things that caused his heart to skip a beat, not anymore. The list of things that set off a silent panic deep in his gut had been so reduced by time that the few causes were almost entirely predictable. So instead of lashing out or immediately springing into some kind of misguided action, he forced himself to stay sitting at the kitchen island, the hand not wrapped around his coffee mug curling into a fist despite his best intentions. 

Dave was going to be the fucking end of him one day. 

"You're up bright and early considering everything," Jake said from across the kitchen as Dave slumped down onto a stool at the far end of the island; Dirk felt his heart clench as Dave put his head down on the cool granite without saying anything. "Davey boy? You could've just stayed in bed if you were planning on going back to sleep, you know."

"Coffee," Dave mumbled, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against the countertop. "Big cup, Pops. Like, massive coffee. Give it to me in an IV if you've got one."

"Of course I've got one but you can't just inject drip coffee directly into your veins," Jake said as he rummaged through a top cupboard to find Dave's mug. 

"Why not? Sure you can, you just gotta do it with gusto, no hesitation. You've got my full consent, do it. I'll sign something if you want." 

When Dave set a familiar orange pill bottle down next to his face, Dirk felt his gut hit the floor.

"You hurl yet?"

Slowly, Dave lifted his head off the counter and turned to face Dirk, propping his chin up with a hand so he didn't have to rely on his neck to hold it in place. 

"Not a migraine," he said with a grin - that cocky fucking grin - unscrewing the cap of his pill bottle with his one free hand. "Hangover."

"Hangover?" Dirk repeated, watching as Dave knocked back two standard Tylenol pills with a mouthful of the hot coffee Jake had put down in front of him - thankfully - in liquid form.

"Hangover," Dave confirmed. "Guess that happens when you stay up until like what, two? Three? Anyway, when you stay up 'til whatever o'clock, and you're drinking a shitload more than you normally do because fuck it, it's Christmas, right, and it's you, and your dad, and your step-dad, and your step-from-the-other-side brother and you're playing _Cards Against Humanity_ but the joke is half the players are shit because they're pretending to be shit then they dole out a surprisingly good hand and you choke a little bit because the last time you sat like a normal person was at least two-thousand six and you're lying on the carpet."

"Okay, okay, it's just a hangover," Dirk said dismissively, hoping that said hangover would stop Dave from noticing just how tense he'd been since his entry into the kitchen. "How's John holding up if you're still a solid thirty percent wasted?"

"I dunno, he was asleep when I walked past," Dave shrugged. He tried to sit up a little straighter on his stool, but lasted just long enough to crack his neck twice before slouching back over his cup of coffee. "You?"

"Fine," Dirk lied. 

"You fell asleep on the couch after your third whiskey," Dave snorted. "Twice." 

"Merry Christmas, you've just seen the ghost of future you once you hit middle-age."

"Pops?"

"I already gave myself a healthy dose of caffeine straight to the bloodstream," Jake said from his place beside the toaster. "It helped clear up a doozy of a headache, I'll tell you that."

"Unfair," Dave muttered with a frown. "Is that for me?"

"If you ask nicely."

"You're denying me possibly illegal IV veterinary liquids and now I have to beg for toast? It's shit room service at this place, I should've gone to Mom's."

"For that you're getting marmalade and the zero-complaints or it goes straight to the dog special," Jake said, already halfway through spreading the sticky orange jelly onto three slices of whole wheat toast. "Try that, it should help. Got me through some absolutely dreadful mornings in university." 

"Speaking of absolutely dreadful," Dirk pitched in, reaching over to steal one of the slices while Dave's reflexes were still far slower than usual. "I've been thinking of disowning you since last night when you decided it was a good idea to mix my eighty dollar whiskey with your bullshit iced coffee from a bottle."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Dave said through a slow mouthful of marmalade toast. "I got you disappointment _and_ shame this year."

"No shit." 

"It was vanilla," he added, tearing the crust from one edge of his toast. "The coffee, frappuccino things. 's all I had left."

"Doesn't help you're total lightweight," Dirk said as he scooped up his own crumbs with a free hand and sprinkled them back onto Dave's plate. "You sure your head's all good?"

"Better than most days," Dave mumbled. "I think I'm still kind of smashed though?"

"I pointed that out five minutes ago."

"Did you? Hey, Pops, get over here we're having some kinda cute family breakfast shit right now, you should be getting in on this," Dave said suddenly, as if he'd caught a second wind out of nowhere. "How'd you guys sleep? John crapped out on me like, immediately, but shit it was way beyond his fuckin' bedtime when I dropped him off in guest room number one. I think I posted some shit on Instagram because I've got all these alerts right now but that could just be people bitching about their Christmas Commissions because no one is ever happy with anything anymore like fuck, dudes, I do dick squat all December to get those done in time but no, not good enough I want my money back, there's always one," he went on, talking directly into the mug he was holding barely two inches from his face. "Sleep, yeah, I slept. Mostly. How'd you sleep, anyway?"

Across the kitchen, on the other side of the island, Jake was grinning from ear to ear as he leant back against the counter with both hands wrapped around a fresh mug of heavily sugared tea. 

"Before or after I made it to bed? Because the nap after whiskey number two was solid," Dirk said. "That was before John said the words _a sad handjob_ though and holy shit I was awake after that."

"Mm-mm," Dave said, shaking his head as he tossed his half-eaten slice of toast back down onto the plate to swap it for his phone. "Game's over, we're back to the unspoken rule of pretending neither of us know what that means," he went on, immediately picking his toast back up instead of the phone. "Normal parent-child deflection from that shit because no way are we having that conversation, not on my watch. How's the snow, huh?"

"A classic upstate Christmas morning," Dirk grinned. "And have you ever seriously been under the illusion I don't know what a handjob is? Because if you ever actually believed that, we failed you somewhere along the line, big time." 

"Help me out here, Pops."

Dave's expression, half pseudo-squeamish, half cockier than ever as he leaned hard into the joke, was one even Jake had obviously picked up on after the reminder of the white card reading that had sent everyone into hysterics the night before.

"Nothing to help with, I'm afraid," Jake said with a vague shrug, trying to keep it casual. "I can only assure you that he does indeed know what it means." 

"Not reassuring!" Dave exclaimed, feigning a gagging motion before he folded the remaining half slice of toast to cram it all into his mouth at once. "So what's the go on that veterinary IV?"

"No chance," Dirk interjected. "Suck it up, the hangover serves you right for committing such a heinous crime against my top shelf liquor."

"You're a heinous crime against whatever," Dave said, resting his chin on an upturned palm once more to avoid holding up his own head with just the limited strength in his neck. "When's everyone gettin' here?"

"When they get here, but we're eating at four whether they're here or not," Dirk said, as he finally stood up from his seat by the counter, moving to stand behind his unexpectedly hungover son. "Between Rox's three in the morning meetings, Rosie never dragging herself out of bed until she's good and ready, and Jade's cocktail of uppers and downers, we're putting a lot of pressure on Egbert Senior to get them all here before it's time for bed again," he said, squeezing Dave's shoulders tightly.

"Fuck, you think Jade would give me a Ritalin if I said please? She would, she likes me."

"While there's a fifty-fifty chance she'd say yes, the statistics run about the same as your chances with Jake and he's already here. The problem with the sharing isn't just that Jade would likely collapse face-first into the turkey, or that Jake would drag me out into the aforementioned Upstate Christmas Day snowfall for a literal wrestling match by two o'clock," Dirk went on, thumbs pressing deep into the tight muscle along Dave's shoulders even as he tensed up even more with the added pressure. "The real problem is that you'd be on the roof within the hour because the last thing you need is any kind of amphetamine, kiddo. Ask for a valium and we'll reconsider." 

"Okay. Got any valium, Pops?" 

"Not the point," Dirk said, flicking the tip of Dave's ear when he let go of his shoulders. "It's ironic, in the most genuine sense of the word, me telling you to relax, but relax, would you? Jake, no, he's fucking with you," he added suddenly when he heard the sound of pill bottles rattling. 

"He's already hungover, what harm's a valium going to do?" Jake said nonchalantly, reading the labels on various bottles as he pulled them out of a drawer. "They're probably expired and only half as effective as they should be anyway. Would you like it crushed and dissolved in your coffee or hidden inside a slice of cheese?"

"No one's taking anything they're not prescribed, it's Christmas fuckin' morning," Dirk announced, plucking the still-closed bottle from Jake's hand. "And he's a person, he doesn't need you to hide the pill inside a treat. I've seen him dry swallow three at once in his sleep."

"What's everyone doing?" 

The question was accompanied by a yawn when John stumbled into the kitchen, arms stretched up to touch the door frame as he passed under the threshold. 

"Drugs," Dave replied, turning his head just enough to face John. "Cool PJs," he grinned. 

"Thanks, my dumb step-brother got them for me," John said without missing a beat as he kicked up a leg to show off the _Jojo's Bizarre Adventures_ print on his pyjama pants. "Can I join in? I have to take my sad bitch candy anyway," he added, sliding up into the seat Dirk had left empty. 

"Yeah, shit's getting wild, Pops is gonna share expired shit meant for baboons."

"I think this is from when we were moving a snow leopard, actually," Jake said, squinting at the label on the bottle. "Oh, no, it's just Hal's. I wrote him a script in case he went bananas on the drive from California," he explained with a laugh, returning the plastic container to the top shelf and exchanging it for his own bottle. "What are you doing?"

Dirk elbowed him out of the way to pull the tub of assorted medications back down out of the cupboard, rummaging through two different boxes. 

"Saving all of you from my wrath," he said, rolling up his sleeve. There was no way that he didn't have three sets of eyes on him as he slapped the first nicotine patch onto his upper arm.

"Talk about excessively dramatic," Dave snorted. 

"You'll be thanking the second one when it's all that hangs between you and sleeping in the garage tonight," Dirk said shortly as he stuck a second, lower dosage patch on the opposite side of his arm. 

"Cool tattoo, Mr. Strider," John said earnestly; he was halfway through eating the third piece of marmalade toast Jake had made earlier. 

"We've just established my current mood and you're sassing me?"

"Yeah. Does anyone even care about the Ninja Turtles anymore?"

"You've all got forty five seconds to finish eating and get the hell out of my kitchen until I need an extra set of hands," Dirk said. He screwed up the packaging from his patches and tossed it into the garbage can under the sink. "Husband and dog included."

Maybe it wasn't Dave who was going to be the end of him, after all. 

"Can I have some more toast first? Turned out mine was communal," Dave said as he looked down at his empty plate, the exaggerated frown on his face an obvious ploy. 

As Dirk reached for the bread, it was a definite toss up between whether Dave or an overdose of nicotine would ruin his heart first.

+++

"You are looking at me."

It wasn't a question, but it hadn't entirely come across as a statement, either. He knew it was a trick because even though he wasn't looking at her, the second he turned away from his phone to glance over, she'd know. 

"I'm looking at the weather," he replied, clicking off the iPhone display as he dropped the device down onto his chest. "Forty seven." 

"Boo," she scowled, stretching both arms and legs up into the air before cocooning back under all the covers on her side, turning to face him. 

"Now who's fucking looking at who?"

"We have established that I have to look at you sometimes so you do not die from a lack of attention," she said, her voice muffled by the edge of her pillow. "Merry Christmas, nerd. What movie are we seeing?"

"I haven't decided yet if we should both suffer or not." 

When Karkat turned onto his side, he pushed his phone up the mattress from where it had fallen so it was tucked up under his own pillow instead of lost in the sheets. 

Christmas had never been a big deal in his family. At least, it had never been a holiday of any particular significance to them, generic participation aside. Most years, one or both of his parents had been working anyway and the times they were all together had been spent much like a regular public holiday. Once, the year after he'd first converted, Kankri had tried to force them all into a more traditional American Christian-style event, but that had fallen flat when Karkat baited him into an argument that them sitting down to a turkey dinner counted as cultural appropriation; he hadn't tried again since. Christmas was just another thing he'd participated in over the years despite having no attachment to the holiday. It was nice, the atmosphere and the way the entire city came alive with lights, decorations, and countless trees, he could admit that. He liked Christmas and everything that came with it, but it just wasn't important. 

It had been the same for Terezi. 

"Ooh," she cackled. "Which cinematic masterpieces are you considering for today's viewing? I want to see the one with the bright blobs of light." 

"If it's just you who suffers, _Little Women_ ," Karkat said, taking the early morning opportunity to soak in every one of her expressions before she woke up too much and remembered how uncool feelings were. "Cinematic masterpiece is an understatement if the academy reviews can be trusted, which they usually can't because they're all ancient white guys with an obvious agenda, but what the fuck ever, right?" 

"Oh, I think I know the other choice and if I am right I absolutely want to suffer through _Cats_ with you, because I am unsure which one of us will be more miserable," Terezi grinned. "The only thing about _Cats_ I am more excited for than the movie itself is the review of _Cats_ you are going to film as soon as we get home."

"I started writing notes three days ago and so far they're just all fucking memes about this disaster of an uncanny valley rollercoaster, it's going to be the worst thing I've seen since _The Lion King_ and for all the same reasons. I fucking hate Hollywood," he said. 

"Maybe this year we will stumble into a wormhole where we are both some kind of white people who spend all day hating each other but pretend we are all one big happy family so we do not offend the turkey," Terezi said as she slung one leg up over his hip and dragged the tangle of blankets along with her. "I will get the middle-aged white woman haircut and argue with the poor fifteen year old boy who is working his first shift at Target, and you can have zero agency of your own because I actually hate you, except for when you tell our six year old son he cannot do ballet because it is just too gay and he is ruining Christmas for all of us."

"Even for you that's suspiciously specific," Karkat said with a scowl as he lifted an arm to try and remove a clump of her hair from his face. 

"We will spell his name incorrectly so everyone knows just how white we are," she added. "And for Christmas, because we are celebrating Christmas in the most white people way here, keep up, we will make sure to give his sister who has not once mentioned liking it unlimited ballet lessons and force him to play basketball."

"You want two kids?"

"Pfft, no," Terezi said dismissively. "Why, do you?"

There was a beat as Karkat wondered - not for the first time in his life - if he'd fucked up a perfectly innocuous conversation by reading six levels too emotionally deep into things. He frowned as he rolled onto his back, Terezi following so she was lying half on top of him with her chin pressing into his chest. 

There was no way she'd missed the brief spike in his heart rate, no matter how casually he tried to play it off. 

"I might not want to kill myself over one, someday," he said eventually.

"Yes you would. The _one_ time I was a week late you had resigned yourself to being dragged across the Canadian border by my mom so she could dispose of your corpse somewhere in Nunavut," Terezi pointed out. 

"That's not the same as making the active decision to - look, what the fuck just happened here?"

"It is Christmas Day, the day you hate the people that you love and invariably upset them over something stupid, so answer the question," she said, her familiar grin forming as she reached up to scratch lightly at the fresh stubble on his chin.

"I used to, I guess, because for a while the ultimate romantic dream was like, two point five kids and a mortgage you can never actually pay off, right?" Karkat said, idly running a finger under the loose strap of her tank stop while he spoke. "But we both have shit genes, you're eighty percent of the way to being a hot shot lawyer with no time anyway, and kids only fall into the equation when the equation involves the Hallmark ending, not the real life ending where you'd birth a blind, angry, shit pile of a human because how would we create anything not hot garbage?"

"Wow, offensive," Terezi replied. "In, I think, three different ways."

"What, so _you_ want kids?"

"Fuck no, it is bad enough the Mayor has been screaming at us for his breakfast since I woke up, and he does not have apposeable thumbs," she laughed, shifting her weight again to try and get comfortable. "You did not give me a concrete answer, you know."

"I don't know?" Karkat said after another brief moment of silence passed between them. "I don't know. If it happens sometime, it happens I guess, but I'm not about to suggest we ditch any of the continual attempts we're making to actively avoid that scenario."

"I like that plan because it is an issue for future me, and present me is far too busy with difficult decisions like do I go and feed the Mayor for free, or do I go and feed the Mayor only if you are willing to make breakfast?" Terezi said. 

"Or I do both because it turns out we launched into the 'hypothetical white children' conversation before the 'what time is it' conversation and it's not even eight thirty yet," Karkat pointed out, as he pushed her just hard enough to sit up without forcing her to hit the mattress when he moved. In response, Terezi shuffled down the bed, dragging her pillow along until she was almost entirely covered by the sheets. 

"You drive a hard bargain," she said, with the top of her head the only thing sticking out from under the comforter.

When Karkat slipped out of bed and into the hallway, the Mayor pounced down from his desk and followed him out to the kitchen, impatient for his breakfast. Despite Terezi's insistence that she was planning to go back to sleep, she emerged into the living room less than thirty minutes later, within seconds of the rice cooker switching itself onto the keep warm setting. 

"Well what time is _Cats_ on?"

+++

"What do you mean you slept in my bed?"

"I mean that when I was asleep, I was sleeping in your bed. Duh?"

"My room is no girls allowed, Harley," Dave said seriously. "Like, no girls. Okay, so three girls, but no _girls_. Obviously Mom was gonna go in there and yeah she slept there sometimes but like, not since I was what, like eight and had gastro or when my body decided to shit itself and start giving me chronic eye pain, or -"

"Or the Acid Incident," Rose interjected with a coy grin. 

"Or that but we don't talk about that, fuck. Anyway, Rose slept in my room sometimes because she likes me but won't actually tell me that she'll just crawl on in like it's her room all 'Dave, turn the music off, Dave, put some pants on, like shit fuck off it's my room, right?" Dave went on, largely ignoring both his sister, and the fact that he was rambling. "And it's like yeah, my best girl lived in my room but that doesn't even count because she was my best girl, like c'mon. Now here we are all these years later and you've ruined a lifetime streak of no girls in my room."

"That's bleak, dude. Even I've had girls in my room," John supplied. "A girl, a human one I'm not related to."

"I dare you to repeat that when your Dad gets back from being yelled at by Bro for trying to help," Dave said. "But back to the more serious issue of why the hell are you all so interested in my room all of a sudden when there's literally a hundred and three other surfaces to sleep on at Mom's place?"

"Because I've never been to your house before!" Jade exclaimed from her place on the floor, where she was lying between Bec and Hal to alternate giving each dog some well-earned scratches. "And it's super weird because I've been to your apartment but this was way better. Rose showed me everything that you've talked about forever, and there's so much snow everywhere! Roxy even showed me the gallery," she said, scratching Hal in just the right spot that his tail thumped happily against the carpet. 

"You didn't," Dave groaned. He rolled his head back to stare up at his mom from her lap, cocking an eyebrow so she had at least something to help visualise the disdain he was otherwise struggling to get across. 

"I did," Roxy said mischievously. 

He let her run her fingers through his hair as she went on, filling him in with the information both Rose and Jade had conveniently left out earlier; not only had his mom made a show of walking Jade through every photo hung on her office wall, she'd gone out of her way to recap the event that had won each of the track trophies scattered throughout the living room, even the ones she hadn't been to for some reason or another. 

"Gonna check on Bro," he mumbled as he sat up. He smacked a loud kiss onto Roxy's cheek as he rolled over the back of the couch, heading into the kitchen despite the solid fifty-fifty chance he'd be immediately chased back out. "Hey," he said. "Favour."

"Shoot but expect to be shot down," Dirk said without looking up from slicing the ham as Dave stepped between him and Jake, who was mashing a huge pot of potatoes. "Fuck it, add the rest of the stick," Dirk added, gesturing to the discarded butter with the sharp end of the knife. 

"Hey, Mr. E, can you pretend not to listen?"

"I am far too busy with these pies to overhear anything that you intend not to leave this kitchen," Mr. Egbert said from across the kitchen; true to his word, he didn't even look up from tending to his apple pie. 

"Cool, thanks. Okay, so I'm gonna be less of a shit than normal and cut straight to the chase, but can we please not tell Mom about the tragic hangover this morning? Rose, either. I mean, for obvious reasons but also because it's Christmas and I'm the light of your fucking lives?" Dave asked eagerly. He was leaning backwards against the counter by then, wedged between them so he could glance from one to the other. "Please?" 

"Already forgotten, lad," Jake said with a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder. "You can start taking the bread through, you know where the fancy dining room is." 

"Yeah, okay," he said, letting out a sudden breath that had been caught somewhere deep in his chest. "We all good for real?"

"All good," Dirk confirmed. "And tell everyone else to haul ass in here and pull their weight. Table's set." 

"Cool, okay. Cool. Thanks," Dave said, turning around again to leave the kitchen as fast as he'd appeared, only he made sure to take two baskets of sliced and buttered baguette with him as he left. 

The fancy dining room, back across the living room and through a set of unnecessarily ornate French doors, was definitely fancier than any of the other dining rooms they'd ever sat down in together. By the time everyone had found a place around the table, Christmas lunch was open for self-service. Dave had Rose then Jade on his right, opposite his Mom, John's dad, then John, with Dirk at the end of the table to his left and Jake at the far end. He could just see the dogs if he leant back in his chair; Bec was lying on the floor next to Jade - where he belonged - with Hal a little more restless next to him but within Jake's reach in case he lunged for the food.

Dave couldn't tell if it was the tail end of a whiskey hangover or something else still causing the innately unsettled feeling somewhere deep in his gut. It was Christmas. Rose was home, here, there, sitting next to him in the flesh for only the second time in a year. Her proximity, however temporary, was usually enough to settle his restless energy but instead of feeling more grounded, he was closer to the edge of flipping the fuck out than he had been in months. 

His left leg bounced under the table, out of his control, only stopping for a few seconds when he made eye contact with Dirk while asking for the potatoes. 

"Hey, so for Christmas Bro and Jake got me a bedroom, it's pretty sick and I mean it's not _mine_ mine, but they said it's mine, right?" Dave announced when the table fell relatively quiet as they all began to eat. "So in the spirit of the holidays I'm having a sleepover tonight in my new room and everyone's invited."

"Even girls?" Jade asked from Rose's other side, leaning back in her chair to pull a face at Dave when she asked the question. 

"Yeah, new room, new rules, new me, the whole shebang," he said. He hadn't looked up from his plate, reorganising his beans so they all lined up the same direction. "No olds though, sorry fam. Girls but no olds. Dogs must be accompanied at all times, hands inside the vehicle, all the usual rigmarole and bullshit."

"I'll come," John piped up from across the table. "But my mom wants to talk to your mom first," he added with a grin. 

Dave grinned back.

Below the table, his leg still bounced.

+++

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:04 --

TT: One, your persistently restless leg is giving me motion sickness.   
TG: soz  
TG: workin on it  
TG: two   
TT: Two, no, I can't still smell the whiskey on you. That said, might I also mention how glad I am that we're well beyond the Axe phase?   
TG: who snitched   
TT: You texted me last night saying, and I quote, "this shit tastes like flaming hot cheetos but bad".   
TG: fuck   
TT: It's okay. I'm okay. You getting just messy enough to embarrass yourself for the first time since the Fourth of July isn't going to trigger me into the vast chasm of relapse. I'm more concerned about you, honestly. What has you wound so tight?   
TG: worried about you  
TG: worried about mom  
TG: worried about john  
TG: miss the mayor  
TG: miss karkat  
TG: dont want you to leave again  
TG: dont want jade to leave again  
TG: havent been for a run in a week  
TG: eyes hurt  
TG: gonna get caught txting   
TT: Do you want to stage an incredibly obvious exit in which I leave the room first and you follow less than a minute later leaving only an obtuse near-truth in your wake?   
TG: y

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

"So this is it, hey? After so many years and so much of my bullshit I'm gonna absolutely fuckin' ruin Christmas with a run of the mill panic attack. That's what this is, right? Like, for really real? What the fuck, right?" 

"Well, there was the Christmas you ran away and flew cross-country to avoid explaining your feelings with words," Rose mused out loud as she closed the patio doors behind them. "But I suppose I should take at least some of the credit for that. And there was that time you threw up on the kitchen floor but we've all forgiven you for that on account of you being all of about eight years old," she added, watching Dave pace aimlessly back and forth across the small patch of cement in his Christmas tree socks and Nike slides. "Dave?"

"Yeah, not helping," he said, coming to a sudden stop just to stare off into the distance, his arms wrapped across his stomach. 

"You don't need to worry about me," she said as she reached out to loosen his grip on himself, just enough to slip her arm through his left and around the crook of his elbow. 

"Fuckin' cured, Rosie," he muttered. "What the fuck, right? I'm happy, don't let this shit fool you. My best people are here, it's Christmas, I've got sick presents for everyone, like, what?"

"I'm okay, Dave," she said firmly. 

His right hand, free from her grasp, slipped away so he could chew on the corner of his thumbnail instead of responding. 

"But I don't want to wake up one day and be the reason you're not," he said eventually. "We spent literally our whole lives being like, _don't tell Mom_ , and laughing about it because it was always dumb teen drama like trying dope and going into anaphylactic shock and shit, right?"

"When you put it like that, I suppose we did manage to have vastly different high school experiences, didn't we?" Rose smirked as she put her head down against his upper arm.

"It was a sudden thing, you know? Like we were all good and I told you every thought that crossed my mind because fuck why not, right? Who else is as obligated as you are to listen to every inane thing my dumbshit brain thinks of? No one, that's who. Then one day I get this phone call from Kanaya and she's flipping the fuck out because you almost drowned in your own puke, and it's just, well shit, and I'm on the train to Princeton trying to figure out how to compartmentalise everything even more because on top of _don't tell Mom_ , there's gotta be a _don't tell Rose_ order in place and now it's however long later and I'm starting to think that having to repress everything so I don't fuck the two of you over isn't good for me or something?"

"You've had a self-imposed _don't tell Rose _order since your Sophomore year?"__

__"Yeah," he laughed nervously, examining his thumb from behind what Rose recognised as a custom pair of Aviators. "I'll fill you in one day, maybe, but fuck. I had two full years of art school left after that and trust me there's a lot of good shit missing from the record."_ _

__"You can just give me the highlights one day," Rose said. She let her arm fall from his, her hand sliding down to tangle their fingers loosely together for just a moment, letting him go with what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. "Why are you so wound up right now?"_ _

__"Pressure, I guess," he shrugged. "I've had all this work come in since Bro's album dropped and it's just a constant grind. Like I love it, I fucking love it, but I lost November completely and then it was December so the Christmas Commissions came in, and now we're here and so is everyone and I just. I can't switch off? I think that's it?" Dave sighed and crouched down with his head hanging between his knees. "I'm tired, Rosie. I've got work scheduled until at least July and that's if none of the projects blow out. Tonight's sleepover is still on, but it's for actually sleeping."_ _

__"Oh, boo hoo," Rose said sarcastically, rubbing his shoulder until he stood back up. "Life's hard when you're a success, or so I've heard. Now, what do we say when our incredibly nosy family asks why we abandoned our lunch at Bro's first Christmas in this horrifying manor your fathers' call home?"_ _

__"Give me a pity-hug while I think of something," he said, opening his arms; Rose obliged, reflexively rolling her eyes at the last second before he moved in to rest his chin on her head, arms hanging loosely over her shoulders. "I think I caught John's excess feelings," he mumbled._ _

__"You always had too many of your own," Rose said, eyes closed, her left ear pressed against his chest._ _

__His heart was still beating too fast._ _

__"Can't help it."_ _

__"It's very Gryffindor of you," she confirmed._ _

__"Fuck off," he retorted, the huff of air he sent out through his nose ruffling the hair on her crown. "Bro was so mad last night, like. Shit, the only reason I pounded down so much of his top shelf whiskey was because I know I took a year off his life for every shit thing from the fridge I mixed it with."_ _

__"What sent him over the edge?"_ _

__"Bottled frappuccino."_ _

__"He's a simple man, Dave. You do things his way, or the wrong way."_ _

__"Yeah. We should go back though, he's been secretly over the fuckin' moon about having Christmas here and it's real cute. Or like, it would be, but it's Bro, y'know?"_ _

__"Do you have your lie ready?"_ _

__"Prepare to be wowed."_ _

__As was the case with the vast majority of Dave's overly bold claims, no one seemed wowed by his announcement to the entire dining room that she, Rose, had single-handedly ruined Christmas by forgetting to bring his snowboard from their mother's garage. It wasn't his best performance, not by a long shot, but his feigned disappointment in her entirely falsified forgetfulness was backed up with an even longer rant over his pre-selected hill for the now impossible snowboarding session._ _

__She couldn't be sure - because her uncle had always been something of a self-professed unreadable enigma - but there was something about the way his eyebrow twitched when Dave pushed his act just a little too far to be believable that had her somewhat relieved she wasn't the only one worrying about her brother._ _

____

+++

"Fuck, Harley, this is America. You can't go around yelling _shotgun!_ and expect us not to shit our pants thinking that you're talking about an actual shotgun."

Jade just rolled her eyes and caught the pillow Dave threw down to her end of the bed. 

"That's fucking dumb," she said pointedly. "Jake showed me where three shotguns were in this house before we even had lunch."

"Valid statement, but the point still stands," Dave said. He tossed her a second pillow, then stood back up to check the built-in closet. "Who's cold?"

She laughed loudly as the torrent of blankets landed on top of John and his Switch, too absorbed in _Pokemon Shield_ to notice the incoming threat before it landed. The elbow she was propped up on suddenly gave way under her weight when she laughed even harder at the spare comforter Dave threw at Rose, catching her just as off-guard as John. 

"Whoop," she said, patting Bec's cheek when he sniffed her over after the brief attack. "Good boy!" 

Bec's tail thumped happily against the carpet. 

Dave's room had been decorated without him or his input, a gift from his parents for Christmas. A place he could fuck off too if he needed it, Dirk had said earlier when they were all sitting in the living room surrounded by torn up wrapping paper. The bed was wedged into an alcove underneath what turned out to be the stairs to the attic, underneath a window that had been fitted with perfectly measured blackout blinds to keep out as much light as possible. 

The four of them had dragged the mattress from the guest room at the end of the hall, and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor of Dave's room, pressed up right beside his bed so they could all sleep as close to on top of each other as possible. 

Once the blankets were distributed and a second round of less than parental-friendly gifts had been shared, they each fought off the silence by recapping the months they had all spent apart; Rose's tales from the bookshop and John's looping stories of endless hours at the piano taking up more time than Jade's own recollection of her time in the Pacific. 

"I've just been, like, working and shit," Dave said when it was his turn. "Legit, I know you're all like _shit Dave tell me all about life in Brooklyn and how totally rad that is_ , but the reality is it's just a desk job but the desk is in my house," he went on. "And my coworkers are maybe marginally better than normal office job coworkers but we're talking maybe fifty percent here because the Mayor is a cat so unless you're the only guy working at the bodega with your cat, I win, right?" 

Dave had rolled onto his side so he could look over the edge of the bed, down at John's Switch. Without asking, Jade wriggled her arms around him from behind, positioning herself so she could see the screen around his head. 

Dave paused mid-sentence when she did, but quickly picked up his train of thought and finished his story about the bodega trip that ended in his entire household sleeping off an ice-cream coma on a Wednesday afternoon. 

"Harley," he said seriously. "This is the best Christmas gift, oh my God. Guys, check this shit out, little spoon. Fuck I'm so cozy right now, this is the greatest Christmas since I got that bag of bird skulls."

Jade laughed and squeezed him tight, then pushed his shoulder down into the pillow top so she was lying half on his back. 

"You're totally welcome," she said brightly, shifting her weight ever so slightly until Dave seemed more comfortable wedged between her and the mattress. "But I have a very important announcement to announce to you all so I need you to shut up," Jade went on. She paused, partly for dramatic effect but mostly to give John enough time to flick his Switch into sleep mode. "My production schedule for next year is officially locked in and I can tell you exactly where I'm going to be every day for the next ten months and all the locations are in North America!"

"You're coming home?" John asked incredulously, a wide grin creeping into his face. "Like, home home to America _home_?"

"I still have to work but now work is at home and home is work!" Jade exclaimed. "And every single production ever has blown out by months so I'll be here for at least a year."

"Won't even need a passport to visit you," Dave said, his voice muffled by the pillow pressing into his cheek. "Unlike my huge bitch of a sister who legit thinks London is better than New York and won't even think about transplanting herself back to literally the greatest city on Earth." 

"Except that we're not from the so-called greatest city on Earth," Rose interjected from beneath what looked like a carefully sculpted pile of pillows. "We're from the remote Upstate wilderness which just so happens to be filled with that great enemy of Dave's everywhere, Tim Hortons."

"Still better than Dunkin," Dave retorted, reaching out a hand to try and swat at her, but Jade's weight still holding him in place meant that the tips of his fingers only just barely managed to flick the ends of her hair. "So, what's the first stop on the great upcoming 2020 _Jade Harley Does America While Pretending To Be A Legit American_ tour, huh?"

"New Mexico! We're supposed to be there for two whole months starting in February, and for the record I'm just as American as you are!" Jade said, as she finally sat up; Dave fought her for the comforter that was wrapped around her shoulders when she did, kicking back against her attempts to roll back onto the blankets until they wordlessly compromised on her keeping the original comforter in exchange for the heavy blanket she pulled up from the pile he'd dumped onto John earlier. "You're from Canadian America, that doesn't even really count," she added.

"Yeah, and you're from Sasquatch America," Dave said, pulling his phone out; the dim light that came from the screen was enough to cause him to squint in the dark room, eyebrows narrowed as he punched out his search even more quickly than usual. "Oh get _wrecked_ , Harley, you and Egbert are a full two degrees of latitude closer to being Canadian than us backwards hicks from Hicksville," he said. "Technically way more in my case if we really wanna get into it on account of the Texas Incident, but infancy notwithstanding, you guys are bigger losers than us, _suck it_."

"Wow, rude," Jade replied as he tucked his phone back up under his pillow. 

"When do you have to be in New Mexico?" John asked, tipping his head back against the edge of the mattress. His phone chimed as he spoke, and he turned off the alarm without even reading the pop up message. 

"February! My trailer is still somewhere in Asia with the rest of production so it's coming over when they do. I can't do everything from here but I can do a lot, so they said just to hang out and take a break for a while? They've been really good," she explained. "I left Grandpa on the island like he wanted. It's funny, but sad, but it's mostly funny. I hid him behind the sofa."

"There is nothing funnier than a dead grandparent," Rose said solemnly. 

"Gotta pee," Dave said suddenly, dragging his blanket up around his shoulders as if it were a felted cape as he unfolded his legs to step completely over John. "I'm shit tired as fuck for real, so last chance to haul ass back to the other room if you guys want to stay up all night like a lame-o frat party without the togas." 

"We can't draw dicks on your face from the other room, Dave," Jade grinned, laughing when he flipped her off as he disappeared out the doorway.

+++

Dave had always taken the stairs the same way; an uneven, slightly too fast for comfort, staccato gait that sounded like he was tumbling down from the second floor with no real control over how he got from A to B. As he'd grown, his footfalls had only become louder and they were more obvious than ever on the old manor house staircase. 

The fourth step creaked under Dave's weight and it took almost too large a percentage of Dirk's self-control to stop himself from immediately shifting his entire position to look at him as he entered the living room. Instead, he left his arm where it was, slung up to rest along the back of the couch so he could run his fingers across Jake's nape whenever he lost interest in _Rambo: Last Blood_.

When Dave walked past them both, Jake looked away from the TV, just briefly, but didn't comment on the mirrored lenses and makeshift cape combination. 

He didn't comment on Dirk's decision either, less than a minute later, to get up and follow Dave into the kitchen; Jake's lack of comment was a statement in itself. 

"You think I need like, some heavy duty therapy or what?" 

Dave was sitting up at the island, one leg lifted with a heel on the edge of his stool, and both arms wrapped around his shin. He put his chin down on his knee as Dirk closed the door back out into the living room after himself; he had no way of knowing for sure, but Dirk knew that Dave was watching his every movement from behind the mirrored glasses, as he walked steadily around the kitchen collecting glasses, milk, and a full sleeve of double-stuff Oreos. 

"This is entrapment," Dirk said, pointedly avoiding giving Dave a straight answer as he sat down around the corner of the island. 

"For real though. Like, we all know I'm kind of weird and fucked up in a good way, right? Like the hipster act is fun and all kooky and shit, but like, totally endearing to people who didn't grow up with you and Mom as role models and have no idea how deep the genuine and literal obsession with dead birds goes? But that's all just personality and hobbies and that," Dave said. 

He was pushing an Oreo around the counter with a single finger, nail cutting into the edge of the cookie to leave a trail of crumbs behind. 

"The hipster thing is an act?" 

"Fifty-fifty," he shrugged. "Like all that shit is just whatever, right, and then suddenly you hit this level where you're beyond the personality and interests and skills and work and it's just a pit of intense neuroses writhing below the surface just kind of spilling their shit all over Christmas Day because you can't tell your sister that you're not telling your Mom you're hungover, because you can't tell your sister you're hungover, because they're both clean and if you tell them you're hungover they'll relapse and it's your fault, again, and then Christmas is ruined? Even though you kind of already fucked it up with said writhing neuroses because they're so fucking obvious these days?" Dave explained. "Theoretically, y'know?" 

"Course," Dirk said. "I mean, in general therapy's a good thing for most people even if they're not super fucked up? These days, anyway. There's been a big fuckin' improvement over time." 

"Since when did you go?"

"In college, sometime after I got big for legal reasons, a few times with Rox for her shit, and on-and-off with Jake for the last what, six years?" Dirk shrugged as he poured two glasses of milk. "What's tipped you over into a perpetual state of nervous tension?"

"I think just existing?" Dave suggested, almost as if he was entirely uncommitted to his response. "I mean, we all know I've kind of always been high strung and for the most part yeah, it just bubbles away below the surface but like. I don't know. I kind of figured if therapy was the thing that managed to get John to realise Vriska was a manipulative bitch, it might actually work or something?"

"Depends on the person," Dirk said, pushing a glass of milk across to Dave. "But hey, if that's a new thing you want to try then go for it."

"I haven't decided yet," Dave mumbled. "I just think I need like, a professional to organise the eight billion thoughts and feelings and shit running rampant in my head literally non-stop? Like if I clean up all my shit I'll be able to navigate it properly or something, you dig?"

"Works for me. Like I said, try it if you want. No one around here's in any position to judge you for it," Dirk said as he reached for a second Oreo to dunk. "Everyone's got their shit. Not that I'm about to sit here and tell you I think you need it to sort out your shit, but yeah, you've got your shit and if you want to try it, then try it."

"Sorry for losing it at Christmas," Dave said as he flipped his own cookie up like a tech-deck and took a bite. "I told Rose before that this is like the third Christmas I've ruined and she was just like, oh yeah that seems pretty on brand for you and she's right, mostly, but you'd think I'd be better at faking it by now. Did I tell you I'm booked out for work until like, July?"

"No shit?"

"Yeah. It feels like nepotism because I did your cover and two jobs have come from that but I'll take it."

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah, probably," Dave said through a mouthful of milk-drenched Oreo. "I bumped up my rate and they still thought it was a steal, so," he explained with a shrug. "I don't think any of like, this, is your fault, for the record," he added a moment later, gesturing to himself. "For real. I think it's just my normal shit amplified itself for attention and got out of the gate when I was busy collecting the mail like Jaspers did that time he got out for three days and we thought he was totally getting mauled by a bobcat." 

"That cat was a fuckin' nightmare," Dirk said. He stood up to return the milk to the fridge but instead of sitting back down at the island, he stood behind Dave and tipped his son's head back to look up at him. "You're the only thing about me that I've loved unconditionally since the nanosecond I realised it existed, Dave. You tell me what you need and I'll make it happen," he said, quietly, and kissed Dave's forehead before he let him go.

Dave just kept looking up at him, head moving to rest back against his shoulder. 

"Anything?"

"I never decided if I'd straight-up kill for you but I honestly think that'd come down to circumstances in the moment," Dirk said, squeezing Dave's upper arms as reassuringly as he could manage. 

"What the _fuck_ is up with Pops and his surprisingly on-trend giant-ass moustache?"

Dirk let out a howl of laughter and brushed Dave's bangs back from his face. 

"He woke up one morning, decided not to shave, and here we are two months later. And before you ask, yeah, I think I'm into it." 

"Miraculously all my shit is cured, look at that," Dave deadpanned, shoving him back with his elbow. "I'm taking these upstairs, cool?"

"Yeah, go play with your friends," Dirk said as Dave slipped off his stool and readjusted the blanket around his shoulders. "Hey, for real though. Whatever you need, Dave." 

"Thanks, Dad." 

He waited in the kitchen, alone, until he was sure Dave had had a long enough head start to make it at least most of the way back upstairs before he propped the kitchen door open again and went back to the living room. 

Jake looked over at him, concerned, when he dropped back down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. 

"Everything all hunky-dory?"

"Yeah, he's just thinking too much. Again, still, I don't know."

"Well we both know where he got that from," Jake said pointedly, patting his thigh to drive the point home. "Thinks too much, works too much, can't switch off. Does any of this sound familiar at all, ring any bells? Because it bloody well should."

"Can't say it does, English," Dirk said, lifting his head up from where it had been resting against the back of the couch. "That kid's going to single-handedly be the cause of my ultimate demise, you know that, right?"

"I can always give him that shot of animal tranquilizers while he's asleep if you think it'll help," Jake offered. 

"Ask me again tomorrow," Dirk scoffed.

When Jake reached over to gently pat his cheek, he took a hold of his hand and kissed his knuckles as a thanks, moving their joined hands down to rest against his chest. 

His heart was still beating too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, love u, come hang out i still talk about all this shit far too much.


	7. [A6.5A4]: i almost pissed myself in public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are major life moments, celebrations, and poor-taste bets made.

**January, 2020**

"Hey," Dave said as he slipped into the passengers' seat of the Uber, shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to rearrange his drizzle-soaked bangs. "You can pull in a block either side of the address, there's never anywhere to park there so it's all good." 

"No problem. Where's the cat?" 

"Huh?"

"I got your message, you said you'd have a cat," the driver said, checking over his shoulder for traffic before pulling out into the middle lane ahead of a string of cyclists. 

"Oh yeah, he's here. He's just pissed at me for taking him to get his shots so he's sulking instead of making himself useful and keeping my neck warm," Dave said, peering down the front of his zipped up hoodie to check on the Mayor. "He's all strapped in," he added. "You a cat guy or a dog guy?"

"Both," the driver said. "I got a small dog and a fat cat," he added, looking over when he stopped at a red light. "He bite the vet?" 

"Almost," Dave snorted as he tried to coax the Mayor out of his shirt. "Long line of cat people in my family, my sister's got three. Mom's is blind. My step-dad's a dog guy though, I mean he's an animal guy in general but he somehow totally converted my dad and now they've got this giant white thing that chases birds and barks at anything that moves and yeah he's alright, I guess, but he's got nothing on the Mayor. That's this guy," he explained as they drove through the bustling streets of Downtown Brooklyn. "Cool tunes," he added suddenly, upon realising he'd dumped his entire life story on an unsuspecting Uber driver. Again.

"Yeah, it's Di-Stri, you know him? Disappeared a few years back, then out of nowhere dropped a totally sick album last Halloween."

"Yeah, I've heard his shit. He's alright," Dave said, turning his head to look out the window in an attempt to hide the grin he was struggling to hold back.

"You ever seen any of his YouTube or anything? The guy is totally unhinged, you gotta check it out sometime. Like, the music makes way more sense once you realise that he's apparently just like that," the driver said. "I think it's just like, Di-Stri Official or something, seriously, check it out."

"Oh yeah, I've seen some of them. My roommate sent me a video that was just like, an hour of him painting a wall in real time, like no time lapse or anything."

The wall in question just so happened to be located in his own bedroom at the Manor; he'd added a series of doodles along the baseboard since then, but Dave wasn't about to bring that up.

"Yeah, see? Totally unhinged. Makes for good entertainment though."

"Right? Oh shit," Dave interrupted himself as he gestured vaguely with one hand. "Park right outside the Starbucks. C'mon, dude, you gotta let the guy collect his cat tax," he added to the Mayor who finally poked a head out from the half-unzipped hoodie. "He's chill," he added to the driver. "A little bitch baby who's apparently still not talking to me over two shots, but the joke's on him because I'm the guy who feeds him," he muttered, mostly to the Mayor as he scratched the cat's head with both hands. 

"Yeah, my dog hated me for a week after her last shot," the driver laughed as the Mayor hissed and ducked back into Dave's hoodie. "This is you." 

"Thanks, man," Dave said, flipping his hood back up to get out of the car. He slammed the door with his free hand and darted up onto the pavement, avoiding as much gutter-slush as he could in the process. He stopped outside the coffee shop and quickly sent off the Uber rating and tip before he shoved his phone into his pocket and peered into the Starbucks through the window. 

When the girl behind the coffee machine waved at him, he opened the door just far enough to stick his head inside the store. 

"Hey," she said brightly. "What's up with the awkward hovering?"

"Cat," he replied, raising the elbow of his left arm, the one cradling the Mayor hidden inside his sweater. "Any chance of a venti peppermint mocha and a faster-than-a-speeding-bullet round trip to the counter to pay and collect before anyone can say the words OSHA violation?" 

"Yeah, you gotta show me the cat though." 

Dave kicked his boots against the wall a few times to shake off the more stubborn ice before he walked into the store, pulling his phone back out to pay for his coffee. 

"He's having a pity party in there," he said, as he stood at the far end of the counter. "C'mon, dude, you've been summoned."

The Mayor just meowed pitifully as Dave lifted him out from inside his hoodie and up onto his shoulders. He turned so the girl could wave a finger in front of the Mayor's nose as she reached over to pass him his coffee, and lifted his hood back into place again to keep the frigid air off both the cat and the back of his own neck. 

"Bad news," she said, washing off her hands after giving the Mayor a thorough chin-scratch. "We're on the last bottle of peppermint for the season." 

"That's worse than bad news," Dave replied, feigning a dramatic frown. "My doctor says I'm s'posed to wean myself off this shit nice and slow so I don't have an aneurysm or whatever, I can't just go back to a non-holiday menu without the peppermint or the toasted marshmallow shit," he said, checking his phone with one hand and picking up his coffee with the other. "Jesus, can you imagine if I was serious? Fuck, I'd take myself straight back to the Vet all _just end me now, Doc_. Anyway, gonna take this baby home and get back to work. See ya," he said, waving with the phone still in hand before he left the store. 

It was only a two block walk back to his building, but by the time he made it inside he could hardly feel the fingers that were wrapped tightly around the paper coffee cup. He dumped everything he was carrying onto the end of the kitchen counter - coffee, keys, phone - and let the Mayor jump off his shoulders when he bent over to untie the laces of his boots. 

"Okay, dude, relax," he mumbled quietly, kicking his shoes aside before crouching down to unclip the cat's harness. "See, home again, home again, except now we're all totally safe and shit because Momma didn't raise no anti-vaxxer. Okay, see you later, dude, love you!" Dave called out after the Mayor as he bolted off down the hallway at top speed. 

"Shut up!" Karkat yelled back from his bedroom. "I'm recording!" 

"Cat incoming!" Dave shouted down the hall as he watched the Mayor run out of the bathroom, into his own room, and then finally across into Karkat's room. He tossed his damp hoodie straight into the wash basket on top of the machine and padded down the hallway after the cat. "So, which cinematic disasterpiece are we bitching about today?" 

He asked the question from over Karkat's left shoulder, looking from Karkat then back up into the camera; he'd immediately gone into public mode as soon as he entered the bedroom. 

" _The Gentlemen_." 

"Good choice, I thought it was alright but what would I know, right? You should get Egbert in on this one, he's got hella opinions about McConaughey and he came with us to see it, you should call him. Third opinion, y'know? Round out the review so it's not just you gushing over Guy Ritchie for twenty minutes while I stand here like, okay but what about what's-her-face from Downton? She was fan-fucking-tastic. You're gonna cut me out, aren't you?" 

He looked back at Karkat. 

"Video? No. Life? Yes." 

"Okay, that's totally fair, I walked straight into that one like I should have seen it coming. You owe me thirty-six months rent." 

"Would you look at that, it's a flash vision of a future where we're still friends." 

"Though so. Okay, I'm out. But yeah, for sure okay what are we rating out of today? McConaugheys?" Dave asked, constantly switching up his gaze between Karkat and the camera to make things interesting. "Four of out five McConaugheys from me, good time, what's that, B+? A-?"

"B or B+, yeah. That's what you're going with?"

"Yeah, I'm good with that. You?"

"I'll get there eventually. Now fuck off," Karkat said, reaching up to push him out of frame by the cheek. "Okay I'll cut here so you can piss off," he added, clicking a few buttons to stop recording. "How'd it go?"

"He didn't bite anyone so that's an all-round win. I think he's gonna hide from me for a while because I held him down for two whole shots so obviously I'm the worst cat-dad ever. You want me to close the door?"

"Yeah, I need to finish this. Lunch when I'm done?" 

"Cool," Dave said, pulling the door closed behind him as he left the bedroom, crossing over into his own to change out of the jeans that had been creeping the damp up his legs since he'd stepped straight into a puddle of slush upon first leaving his apartment building. 

He sat back down at his desk, peppermint mocha in hand and wearing a new pair of sweatpants, less than two hours after leaving for the Mayor's appointment. Instead of responding to any of the thirty new business emails sitting in his account, he flicked off a reply to John's text confirming that shit yes, he'd be there.

+++

"No, we can't," Rose said in a hushed voice. "It's tacky." 

"You want to though," Kanaya replied as she lifted a hand to cover her yawn. "You are not above a wager made in poor taste and we both know it." 

"Of course I'm not, but I just feel like it's not up to us to start this particular game." 

"You grew up with a brother and an uncle in your house, did you not?" 

Kanaya leant in as she asked the question, her voice dropping to a much lower volume so no one else would overhear their conversation.

"Are you changing the subject on me?" Rose asked, raising a single, questioning eyebrow as she dog-eared the page she was up to before closing her book. 

"Oh, no, I'd never sink as low as that," Kanaya said. "The point is you are familiar with the ways of at least two specific men and how they operate." 

"I don't think either of them are good examples of that in any normal scenario, but I suppose this is no normal situation, really. Now I'm curious." 

"Do you believe, based on previous experience both first and second-hand, that we would honestly be the first ones to make this very specific bet?" Kanaya asked, as she rummaged through her purse for any of the snacks they had packed what felt like days ago. "It's not possible. Look at them, they're obviously discussing it now." 

Rose pursed her lips, her mind changed. 

"Your terms?"

"Winner earns the privilege of giving up three of her household duties for an entire week," Kanaya proposed. "Should we both lose, we finally clean out the bathroom cabinet before the end of the month." 

"Well, that's just not going to happen," Rose scoffed. "The one in the chair. He's my bet." 

" _Very_ interesting choice, Lalonde. I'll take the one on the end of the bed."

When the midwives had asked for the father of Porrim's baby to join them in her room to go over the latest update on her labour progress, all three possibilities had filed in with some vague line about their reason for wanting to be involved; close friends, all of them, here for support.

"Which version of the story does your mother know?" Rose asked as she accepted the chocolate-coated biscuit from Kanaya. "Because if she's on her way I feel like we should all be on the same page, somehow." 

"Currently, no version. And I have no desire to be the one who enlightens her on the specifics of this situation," Kanaya said, pushing herself up from the floor using Rose's shoulder to help her get there. "But for now, we make ourselves scarce because we're going to be here for a very long time and I propose a hefty intake of McDonalds to get us through the inevitable awkward shitshow we're about to witness." 

The trip to McDonalds and back only managed to kill an hour of their time. They brought food back for all four of Porrim's partners, who were trading places in the room at her request, and sat back down in the waiting room at the end of the hall; when Porrim had asked if they would be there with her, of course they'd both said yes. There were too many people to be in the room at once, and Porrim had already changed her mind three times on who she wanted to stay when the midwives hit a hard limit on the amount of people by her side as things progressed. They'd offered to go home but she'd demanded they stay, even if it meant only seeing everyone for shorter amounts of time as they all rotated between the waiting room and ward. 

Rose had no idea what time it was when a hand shook her by the shoulder; one of the boys, the one she vaguely remembered nicknaming Colin after she and Kanaya had agreed it was definitely funny to nickname them all after three potential fathers in _Mamma Mia_. She knew it was dark, that she'd fallen asleep on the waiting room couch leaning back against Kanaya's chest, but beyond that it took her longer than it should have to realise he was talking at her without any knowledge of how long it took her to wake up at the best of times. 

"Wait," she mumbled, waving a hand to acknowledge his presence. "Say it again?" 

"Trade. She's talked them into three people in the room so it's you two and her mum," Colin said, shaking Kanaya's shoulder in an attempt to rouse her as well. "They reckon it won't be long now."

"What time is it?" Kanaya asked, pushing Rose forward to sit up properly on the couch. 

"Half four."

Rose groaned but slid off the couch and paused a few steps away to stretch, still struggling to wake up. 

"Why me?" 

"Family only," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Update us, we'll all be here." 

She nodded, and took Kanaya's hand as they walked down the hall together, vaguely aware of a strange new feeling somewhere deep inside her gut.

+++

As John looked out over the audience from his place in the wings, he could only just make out his friends sitting not too far from the stage. He squinted a few times, struggling to see past the stage lights to figure out if they'd all made it; he was pretty sure they had. Jade and Bec were on the far side, then Dave, Karkat, and Terezi; they couldn't see him, had no idea he was watching them from a distance. 

It was definitely a weird feeling to watch his friends like that. Terezi's head was cocked towards the stage, following the shifting lights in front of her. Jade and Dave were silently fighting over elbow space, each nudging the other back whenever they seemed to make progress in claiming the elbow rest for themselves. He took his phone out and zoomed in as far as possible, the close up of Karkat's bored face somehow even funnier than it was from a distance; John saved the video to upload later, just in case any of them checked their phones and realised he was spying. 

He started pacing back and forth as the act before him was winding up, his fingers tapping at invisible keys on the front of his thighs. Pausing by a small wall-mounted mirror bolted into the brickwork, he went through his usual pre-performance checklist: fix tie, check teeth, double and triple check shoelaces. He made sure his phone was on silent as he snapped another quick and blurry photo of his friends, jamming the device back into his pocket as his name was announced. 

Applause. He waved as he walked out from the wings and sat down on his stool, adjusting the height of the microphone beside his set up a few times before he got it exactly right. There was a loud whoop from the audience - obviously Dave - when he pressed a few keys experimentally, his foot automatically going to rest on the non-existent pedal of his keyboard. 

"So I'm classically trained, right?" John said into the microphone, then paused to play a few bars of Bach for effect. "Which is like, super nerdy and only cool if you're me and maybe if you're my Dad," he went on, still playing the classical piece he'd known by heart since he was eleven. "Anyway, here's a song I wrote about anime."

+++

"Kanaya," Rose said, handing over a fresh mug of tea as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch to her wife. "My dearest Kanaya, with whom I am a better person and cannot imagine a life without." 

"While I appreciate the sentiment," Kanaya replied, taking a small sip from the mug to check for sugar. "Get to the fucking point." 

They'd arrived home at some point late-morning and slept until just after five in the evening. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur and the only thing they knew for sure was that the affectionately nicknamed Pierce was definitely not the father of Porrim's baby and Kanaya had lost their earlier bet. Rose felt like she could easily have slept for another twelve hours, but she only had the one day off work and couldn't risk destroying her vague semblance of a sleep pattern any further. 

She sank comfortably down into her end of the couch, legs pulled up, and put her own mug down to rest on her left knee. 

"I want one," she said bluntly. "We've always talked about this as an arbitrary concept for the future, I know, but I just sat through what should have been enough to convince me birth is horrific for everyone involved but in reality I am now thoroughly convinced I want that for us. We said someday and I want it on record, right now, that someday is today for me."

Rose watched her wife carefully, the expression difficult to read as Kanaya stared across the living room as if trying to collect her thoughts. 

"Can I offer you a cat in these trying times?" Kanaya said after a beat, lifting her tea up to take a slow sip, eyes locked back on Rose. 

"Have you changed your mind?" 

"No, I most certainly have the fuck not."

"Then please tell me I don't sound entirely insane?"

Rose's request sounded a little more desperate than she'd intended. 

"No more than usual," Kanaya said playfully. "Someday is promised. It just isn't today for me, partially because I still feel far too young but quite honestly I was hoping it could wait until after I graduate so I could work if you wanted to stay home." 

"That isn't too far away," Rose said, the pause in their conversation just long enough to figure out how long Kanaya had left until graduation. "I don't mean this as a push, I just mean it to let you know that should you arrive at the conclusion of wanting children any time soon, you know I'm already there." 

"And all this so soon after watching my sister need stitches in her vagina." 

"Oh, I'm thrilled about that possibility," Rose winced. "Obviously the intricate details can be left for discussion at a later date, but I had to get it off my chest." 

"Soon enough," Kanaya said, reaching over to plonk her mug down on the coffee table a little too roughly, before she leant forward and kissed Rose, then again, deeper and more intense when Rose managed to slide her own mug down onto the floor without tipping it over. "You can practice on your nephew in the meantime," she said, kisses ghosting along her wife's throat. 

"I still can't believe it's not Pierce. It would have made this entire bet much faster to conclude," Rose said, suddenly, as a fit of childish giggles burst out from deep in her chest. "That said, the father being one of the other two means we won't know until she decides if she's going to run a paternity test, which is by far the more entertaining outcome." 

"How unfair on all of us and our immoral wagers," Kanaya agreed, dropping her weight down onto Rose so she was lying comfortably on top of her. "We can redefine the terms and conditions now that the betting pool is considerably smaller, if you'd like." 

"Now you're just being a sore loser," Rose replied. "My third time as an aunt and it's finally to a human, life is certainly amazing," she said, fingers trailing through Kanaya's hair. "Here are your options for dinner. I can order UberEats, or use the microwave for beans on toast. I have zero energy for anything more strenuous than that."

"Considering I have zero inclinations of making the toast, UberEats is clearly our only option for nutrition," Kanaya said factually. "Make it something terrible, please."

Rose picked up her phone from the arm of the couch and started scrolling through their food options, skimming over anything that would involve the washing up of too much cutlery. 

"I do still only want one child," she said between scrolls. "You?"

"Oh, no, we are in the rare position to have not one, but two, vaginas suffer terrible trauma in the process of bringing children into this relationship," Kanaya deadpanned. "One in, all in." 

"I'm never going to get that image out of my head," Rose said, scrunching her nose up. "Porrim's lucky I'm still absolutely terrified of her or else I would not have agreed to take as many photos as I did."

+++

"Are you annoyed with me?" 

"What makes you think that?" 

"Well, there's being a morning person and then there's this whole situation where I'm not entirely sure you even came to bed last night because you weren't there when I first woke up at five," Jake said bluntly. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dirk watched the slight movement as Jake shifted his weight and leant his shoulder against the wall, trying to look casual as he stood on the bottom step of the basement stairs. He let the accusation hang briefly in the air while he just stared at an email he'd already read, eventually spinning his chair around to face the consequences of his actions. 

"I'm not annoyed," he said. "But I was down here all night."

"Did you sleep at all?" 

"Briefly," Dirk said, gesturing with one hand for Jake to move closer. "I've been, as you call it, _contraptionating_ in my lair."

"Lair?" Jake asked as he crossed the basement. "Some kind of troubled supervillain now, are we?" 

"Hey, that's the dream," Dirk replied. "Supervillain in a basement. Classic, writes itself," he muttered, hands immediately shifting to rest on Jake's hips when they were in reach. "Anyway," he went on, but not before he'd wheeled his chair forward so he was even closer to Jake. "You're going to work tomorrow." 

"For two weeks, yes," Jake confirmed. "I'm quite chuffed to be back in the saddle, you know."

"I know. I also know you're in dire need of a new laptop so I've been down here all night setting it up, replacing a few components that were replaceable, removing all the crapware, installing the shit you actually use, basically getting it ready to go," Dirk said. 

"That took you all night?" 

"No," he snorted. "I spent the rest of it analysing two months of raw Billboard chart data wondering how every fuckin' year we all drop like three places because of Mariah fuckin' Carey over the holidays."

"You desperately want to be back on the field, don't you?" Jake asked seriously. "Properly," he added, stepping backwards to grab the spare desk chair to sit down. 

"Nah, nothing official," Dirk said as he reached over to tilt his monitor so Jake could see it properly. "We all lost to Mariah, but shit, my stats look pretty good up there, huh?"

"Surprise, surprise, public validation driving the ego of a Strider? Who would've thunk it?" 

"I got beat because yeah, I'm old news, but shit that's not bad for a guy who's on his second retirement."

"So you've decided to throw yourself a second unretirement party?" Jake asked, throwing his feet up over Dirk's lap as he leant back in the chair. 

"No, but I'm working on a secret project with this guy from Seattle. It's about fifty percent done, just some SoundCloud shit, but I'm thinking just low-key no-stakes bullshit whenever I want is the way to go. Fuck the man, you know?"

"So did you approach our John, or did he ask you?" 

"Like everything involving John, it started as a joke but he's got some real talent, what can I say?" Dirk shrugged. 

"Tell me about this laptop then," Jake said, moving his legs back down again to scooch his chair right up to Dirk's desk. 

"Before we change the subject again, I feel like we should briefly rewind to the accusation of me being annoyed at you because it's common as fuck knowledge that shit like that is just projection. So, what have you done that you think is going to get me annoyed at you?" 

"Now see here, we're talking about this ridiculously over-spec'd for my purposes machine you've spent the night fiddling with, not the fact that someone left the window in their office open and just spent too long hauling half a foot of snow back out that very same window."

"Why'd you open the window?"

"I was hot? Why else do you think?" Jake asked.

"Jake, we've got raccoons out there."

"And I've got shotguns in here."

"What, you're gonna blast a raccoon for falling through the window you left open?"

"They know they're not allowed in the house, I've been telling them that for months so it's hardly my fault if they don't listen to reason."

Somehow, Dirk found himself struggling to come up with a response to that one.

+++

John was the first to point out that the Olive Garden menu never even changed, immediately followed up by the resumption of the argument all five of them had been having for over an hour - that Olive Garden was objectively the worst place in all of Manhattan that they could possibly go to celebrate the success of John's first appearance at his College open-mic night. Karkat's declaration that Times Square caused locals to break out in hives was overruled by two points: first, by Dave's insistence that the breadsticks were a feasible counterbalance. It was bullshit, but they'd counted it as one of the better points anyone had raised. Secondly, it was John's choice and Jade had backed up his passionate near-shouting on the subway with recollections of Dad taking them there to celebrate the most insignificant of childhood achievements. 

Needless to say, they were already well on their way to Olive Garden throughout the entire argument.

"Dude, as your best friend, step brother, cousin, and like, I dunno, whatever else we are, I can't believe you ditched me for my dad," Dave said as he broke off another chunk of breadstick to shove into his mouth. "That's low, John." 

"I didn't ditch you Dave, you're just being dramatic," John protested, rolling his eyes. "But Dirk is actually a professional and you're just a guy who still likes Snoop too much." 

"Wow, that sound? That's my heart shattering into a thousand pieces right here and now, blowing gently in the subway-grate breeze until they end up soaking in that sweet, sweet gutter piss."

"That was poetry," Terezi pitched in as she wiped a fake tear from the corner of her eye.

"Shut up and let me finish," Dave interjected. He swapped his third breadstick for his second refill of raspberry lemonade. "Anyway, I can't believe you ditched me for my dad, just because he's like, a legit name in the music industry and I'm just a guy with a MacBook and intricate knowledge of the social media landscape who's helped you clock up all those hits on SoundCloud." 

"Get to the point, Dave!" Jade exclaimed as she waved a fork threateningly in his direction. 

"Oh my God I'm getting there," he said, grinning, pausing long enough to drain half his lemonade before he started talking again. "Anyway, the fact you ditched me means even I hadn't heard half that shit before tonight and fuck, John, you're totally hilarious and the fact is I totally take it for granted. So what I'm trying to say is congrats, dude, I almost pissed myself in public at the ripe old age of twenty-four."

With glasses clinking above the remains of more carbs than any of them needed to see again for a month, John made a few half-bows to the booth filled with his friends. 

"Thanks for coming, guys! Also, my next song is totally gonna be about the time we all went to Olive Garden and made fun of Dave because the waitress thought he was blind," John said, grinning from ear to ear. 

"So it was a poor seating choice to end up next to Rez, big deal," Dave pointed out. 

He'd do it all again if it meant seeing his friends - John - as happy as they were in that moment, he realised. He'd suffer the crowds, the tourists, the three subway changes they'd made unnecessarily while arguing over where to eat, all of it. He was a sucker and he knew it, but he'd always been a sucker for family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see sometimes everyone can have a nice time with their friends and/or family lol
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the upd8!


	8. [I29]: You Have No Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a boy reveals something he definitely shouldn't have and the consequences are far greater than anticipated. 
> 
> t/w: again, i don't tend to do these often but here's one for slurs, because we're taking a trip back to 1989 when that shit was commonplace.

**September, 1989**

He fished through each one of his pockets in turn to check for spare coins, but he was out of quarters and he knew it; when the line finally cut out on him, Dirk slammed the phone back onto the hook and kicked the back wall of the phone box with all the frustration that had been building since the beginning of his lunch period. 

No answer. 

The school secretary had told him that no one would answer but he'd insisted on trying anyway. He'd argued his way into using her office phone to see for himself, six times, and spent the rest of the afternoon fixing her typewriter instead of facing his classes alone. 

He sucked on the end of his cigarette, filling his lungs with as much toxic smoke as they could handle; he exhaled slowly, steadily, watching the thin stream of smoke dissipate into the breeze in an attempt to calm himself down. 

It didn't work. 

He threw the butt down into the gutter beside the phone booth and crossed the street without checking for traffic. 

They hadn't left a forwarding address. No address, no reason for why they were moving, not even a phone number. He had a feeling - a pretty strong feeling - he knew exactly why they'd disappeared and taken the only friend he had with them, and all he could do was wait and see how it played out. 

If Meenah fucking Peixes had the audacity to fuck off and never call him again, he'd hunt her down and throttle her himself. 

Dirk felt the bottom fall out of his stomach when he saw both cars parked in the driveway. One was bad enough at three-thirty in the afternoon, but two was such a rare event that it couldn't have been a coincidence. He spat into the camellia bush by the front door in an attempt to clear out the taste of bile and tobacco, but it didn't make any difference. 

He tucked his pointed sunglasses into the side pocket of his backpack, for safekeeping, and turned the front door knob as slowly as he could manage. 

"Get in here." 

There was already a chair pulled out, waiting for him at the dining table, opposite both of his parents. Dirk let his backpack slide off his left shoulder and drop roughly onto the bottom step without replying, because he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't immediately make the situation worse. 

He sat. 

"What have I done?" 

Dirk asked the question after a long pause, during which he looked from one irate parent to the other and back again, trying to figure out what exactly they wanted to know: he hadn't scored anything lower than a 92% since Sophomore year, had emptied the dishwasher before school, and was still coasting along on a begrudging thanks for repairing the dryer a month earlier.

"Your mother had a phone call from your guidance counselor who told us exactly what you did to that punk bitch you can't let go," his father spat from across the table. " _Pregnant_?" 

"Can guidance counselors even share other kids' information like that? Like, legally?" Dirk asked before he could stop himself. 

"Pregnant!" 

The loud slap of his fathers' hand connecting with the table top startled even his mother, but to each of their credit, neither she or Dirk so much as flinched at the exclamation. 

"You seriously think I'm responsible for that?" 

"Are you?"

"No," Dirk replied indignantly.

"Don't fucking lie to me, boy." 

"I'm not fucking lying," he snapped back. 

"And just how are we going to prove that?" 

Lying in order to take responsibility for Meenah's unexpected pregnancy seemed to be the superior choice over the truth, but they were already so angry - his mother was drinking sherry from a wine glass - that a part of him wanted to push them over the edge completely just to see what happened. A small, very small part.

Either way, he was fucked. 

Completely, utterly, fucked.

"It wasn't me," he said again, more insistently this time.

"Stop lying!" 

"I'm not fucking lying," Dirk said through clenched teeth, his fingernails pressing so deeply into his closed fists that he felt them start tearing through skin. 

"Really? Because it seems like the next logical step in your serial attempts to embarrass the family would be to pull a stunt like this," his father said, standing up from the dining table only to throw his chair roughly back into place, the loud clatter of wood-on-wood echoing through the otherwise silent room. "Because everything else wasn't enough, the continual disrespect, the fucking hair you're lucky I haven't ripped out with my bare hands. So what, you thought knocking up some loose bitch would score you another point against us?"

Hunched over his side of the table in an attempt to weather the verbal beatdown from his own father - the third, but admittedly worst, of the week - Dirk squeezed his eyes shut and listened to the seemingly endless stream of accusations. They kept coming, his mother pitching in with unrelated complaints about what the neighbours would think, or how she was going to explain a teenage pregnancy to her bridge club, until finally, finally, he slammed his still-clenched fist down, hard, as he lifted his head. 

"I'm gay," he said, his words filling the momentary silence that came from him daring to hit the dining table. 

The silence that followed was longer, broken only by the neighbours' dog barking. 

"Don't be disgusting," his father spat. 

"You said, stop lying. I've got jack shit to do with Meenah getting pregnant, I'm queer, I didn't do it. I don't know who did, but it wasn't me," Dirk said. 

He could hear his own heart pulsing in his ears as he tried to work out the expression on his mothers' face; it was disgust, or revulsion, tinged with nausea. 

"You are not, you play hockey," his father said. 

"Yeah. As it turns out, fags can skate," he said brazenly. 

"Get out," his mother said suddenly, speaking up before his father could say anything else. "Out of my sight. You go to your room, you do your homework, and at eight o'clock you'll have ten minutes to eat your dinner alone. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal," Dirk said, his response as blunt as he could manage.

When he stood up from the dining table, he made sure to leave his chair pushed out. In a move he wouldn't have tried if he wasn't already so close to being thrown out on the street, he reached across the table, drained the remnants of his mothers' sherry, and returned the empty wine glass to where he'd found it.

+++

Dirk felt his skin crawl when footsteps followed him into the kitchen at exactly one minute past eight.

He didn't turn around, not even once he'd punched the numbers into the microwave to reheat the plate that had been left, uncovered, on the counter for him. There was no way he was about to break the silence; whatever his mother had to say, she could say first. He'd spent the last four hours in his room coming up with a list of contingency plans, ranked in order of difficulty to achieve, so that if it turned out this was the last night he had a place to live at least he'd already thought about what to do.

Unfortunately, option number one involved sleeping under the school bleachers.

The microwave beeped. Dirk took his plate of leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes to the table and sat in his usual place, half hoping that his sister would be there opposite him when he looked up. 

She wasn't.

His mother was standing by the sink, on the far side of the kitchen almost as if she was hesitant to come any closer. 

"Your father and I have discussed what we're going to do with you, and let me make it _very_ clear that there will be no negotiations on your part," she said. 

Dirk realised that on top of keeping her distance, she wasn't even looking at him; she wouldn't meet his gaze no matter how long he stared. 

When he didn't say anything, just shovelled another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, she went on. 

"You will retain the privilege of living under this roof until you graduate in the spring. That only includes access to your bedroom and bathroom, with limited access to the laundry and kitchen. The living room and its contents, including the television and phone, are off limits. You go to school, you go to hockey, and you go to your room. That is all you have permission to do. If you so much as hint at your self-diagnosed deviance to anyone outside this house, _anyone_ , you can see yourself out. You do not tell your sister. If you even think about acting out, you better find somewhere else to live because you won't be welcome here. Do you understand?"

Dirk nodded. It was more of an involuntary jerk of his head in his mothers' direction, but it was enough of a recognisable nod that she accepted his reply. 

He forced down a final mouthful of his meal, the potatoes sitting like glue in the pit of his stomach as he stood up to scrape the remaining half of his dinner into the trash. He rinsed everything, stacked it neatly in the dishwasher, and walked out of the kitchen without so much as looking back to see if his mother was still watching him intently, to make a note of everything he'd touched so she could clean it after he was gone. 

It hadn't taken him long to figure out that she thought he was diseased.

+++

He could feel the hinge pressing into his spine, deeper, as he pushed back against the frame that no longer held up the door to his bedroom. It was gone by the time he'd finished eating, and he'd arrived in time to find his father searching through his closet.

The Macintosh was missing from his desk. 

His mattress was tipped up on its side against the wall, his desk drawers were open, and there was a plastic tub in the middle of the floor filled with things that his father had obviously decided to confiscate. Some books, assorted tools and wires, even his Walkman; Dirk's eyes quickly scanned everything already in the tub and was torn when he realised that the magazines were in there. On one hand, finding the magazines meant his father had already torn through his drawers and removed them from the unit to check underneath, but on the other, it meant his father had been forced to touch gay pornography. 

Not that the knowledge made the complete invasion of his privacy any more appealing. 

"No!"

Dirk's reaction was automatic, a gut reaction to the motion of his father leaning over to unplug the record player perched on his bedside table; his fingers gripped at the door frame behind his back, desperate for anything to help ground him in the moment he realised just how far they were planning to go to punish him.

"No? You're beyond having a say in any of this," his father said, jerking the cord out from the mess of cabling it was tangled around. "You lost all privileges when you decided to go and lose your fucking mind, you're disgusting." 

"Please," he begged, his voice strained with the difficulty of getting the word out. "Anything else, whatever you think I don't deserve, I won't even complain about the computer, please."

"You don't deserve to live under this roof given your decision to be the embarrassment you've turned out as, let alone a record player," his father said. "Move," he ordered.

Dirk took half a step to the side, fingers still gripping at the door jamb as his father stormed out of his bedroom.

"Let me keep my tapes and records, I can't listen to them if you have my player and my Walkman, please," he said, following his father down the hall towards his parents' bedroom. "That's it, I haven't even asked for _anything_ since I was like twelve, please just let me keep them, please, Dad, give me this one thing," Dirk was still begging, on the verge of hysterical as he watched his record player be unceremoniously shoved into his parents' closet. 

"You have no right to ask for any favours, you have no rights full stop," his father said, locking the closet door when the record player was stowed securely inside. "You lost everything this afternoon when you announced your decision to be a faggot. Out."

Dirk was following him back down the hallway again, back towards his own room now devoid of anything important to him. 

"Please," he begged, one last time, as he sat down on the edge of his bed frame, not even bothering to flip his mattress back into place first. 

He clutched at the steel with shaking fingers, unable to do anything as he watched the crates filled with his entire music collection disappear from his possession.

+++

His fingers fished through the empty pockets of his jeans to search for quarters he knew didn't exist. With no coins in any of the jeans he'd woken up to find still strewn across his carpet, he'd been relying on finding a stash in his locker. But when there were no quarters to be found anywhere, Dirk had slammed his shoulder into the locker bay, hard, and ignored the bell ringing to signal the beginning of first period in favour of making another desperate visit to the school secretary, for the second day running.

When he asked to use her phone, she ushered him inside and made an excuse he only half-heard to leave him alone; something about coffee, he thought, as he dragged the phone - cord and all - under the desk as soon as the office door clicked shut behind her. 

The phone rang out once, then twice, and just when Dirk was ready to smash the handset against the floor, the line clicked. 

"Hello?" 

He'd woken her up, most likely with a strong hangover, but he didn't care. She'd picked up, when he needed her to, like she'd always promised him she would. 

He choked up almost immediately, taking a shaky breath in to try again when she repeated the greeting.

"Rox?" Dirk said quietly, his voice catching on her name. 

"Dirk? Baby, where are you? Are you okay?"

"School. They know, I'm fucked, they know Rox," he said, pressing his eyes closed to hold back the tears he could feel coming on. 

"I know, baby, Mom called me last night to tell me I'm not allowed to call you, like, ever again. Are you okay?" 

"No," he whispered, tipping his head back against the desk leg as he pressed the phone hard against his ear. "They know."

"I know, I'm so sorry I'm not there, baby, I'm sorry. I'll be there in a few weeks, Thanksgiving, I'll come home this year, okay?"

Dirk nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him all the way from Princeton, but he nodded again, and pushed his sunglasses up to wipe away the tears he'd been holding back since he'd first found out that Meenah had been forced to move to Florida.

It felt so much longer than just twenty four hours earlier.

"Listen to me, baby, we'll get you through, okay? I'll get you some money so you can call me when you need me, and we'll figure this out because like hell you're gonna give them the satisfaction. Money, then what? What else do you need, baby? Anything," Roxy said, her voice nothing but comforting in his ear. "Dirk?"

"Dad found my porno collection."

"Okay, almost anything, babe. Use the _Sears_ catalogue like the rest of us. Can you talk?"

Dirk glanced out from under the desk, eyes scanning the office door the secretary; she was having coffee with one of the ladies in Administration.

"Yeah," he said, voice steadier than it had been since Roxy had picked up the phone. "What's the worst that can happen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Roxy does come home for Thanksgiving, she raids her parents bedroom while they're out, steals back all Dirk's records and tapes, and takes them back to Princeton with her. 
> 
> Twelfth Grade is probably Dirk's worst year. Meenah's gone, he's getting his room overhauled for contraband at least once a week, and he runs away a few times but always comes back because 'only four more months until college'. He gets money from Roxy via one of her old school friends, who drops it off to him at school. 
> 
> He gets his car for his 18th birthday in December, in a spectacular display of a blackmail/begging combo. He hasn't told anyone he's gay, and he won't, if they give him the new car his Mom got but hates. He only gets enough gas to go to school and hockey - which he was never forced to quit because he's the team captain and 'the masculine energy will be a good influence on someone like him' which, jokes on them, for real - but that's how he gets his classic PLF '89 Camry.
> 
> here's something you might not have noticed: all act 6.5 act 5 intermissions featured various coming out stories for a bunch of main characters!
> 
> happy pride!!


	9. [A6.5A5]: a fifty-fifty on the fifty-fifty split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are personal revelations, personal anecdotes, and personal development.

**February, 2020**

Dave knew he had an extremely biased view of what made a house impressive. He'd grown up in an architecturally designed modern masterpiece, built with old money and intended to work with the surrounding landscape regardless of season. Jake's house in San Diego had been meticulously restored over the years to its original 1920s glory, from the original hardwood floors right down to the faucets and knobs on all the cupboard doors. His dads lived in what could only be described as a haunted house in the off-season, its sprawling halls filled with puppet paraphernalia and an almost endless collection of taxidermy and animal bones, a scaled-up hunting cabin from every classic horror movie. Even his own apartment was well above the norm; there were only so many apartments in Brooklyn Heights with in-house washing machines and dishwashers. 

He didn't exactly know what he was expecting from the house in Syracuse, but he knew he was underwhelmed.

"I thought there'd be turrets," he said from the passenger's seat of the car. "Or like, a moat filled with snapping turtles and shit. Maybe alligators, or like, at least some of those cartoon pits covered in huge ass leaves and whole tree branches, you know what I mean, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dirk said from the other side of the car. "You didn't have to come, kid."

Dave shrugged. 

"Yeah, but I thought I should. I mean, when you decide to do a backflip off the fucking handle and go apeshit or whatever standard funeral protocol is these days, at least I can jump in as a distraction, like all _hey, guess what I've got a B.F.A. in Illustration and I vote blue, what's up, losers_ , you know?"

He felt Dirk's hand on the back of his neck, his touch reassuring for them both. Back at the Manor they'd been over what to expect, more than once, and Dirk was obviously just as uncomfortable about attending his mother's funeral as he had been about showing up at his fathers' years earlier. His status as a reformed smoker had been shattered as soon as they passed the first gas station in Hope, Dave sworn to secrecy even though they were meeting Roxy at the house in Syracuse. 

"Love the enthusiasm, but maybe keep that to yourself until I give you the Bat Signal or something. We don't want to go hard and use up the best material before we really need it," Dirk said. He rubbed Dave's neck comfortingly, removing his hand only to rest it on the gear stick between them. "Seriously, that's gotta be a silver bullet straight to the heart of a great aunt."

"Have I ever been here before?"

Dave only asked the question because he didn't remember the house at all. From everything he'd ever heard about it, he was imagining it to look more unsettling, for something to be obviously wrong about it, but it was just a house. A big house, admittedly, with a sprawling lawn and two car garage, typical of stock-standard middle America. He knew he'd only ever heard about the house in passing, hushed memories shared between the adults in his life when things seemed to be going wrong as a point of comparison. 

"Not here here," Dirk said, right hand absentmindedly flicking his lighter on and off. "You've been to Syracuse a few times and unless your mom's a filthy liar like we know she can be, you met them twice. Once when you were like four and we paraded you out because you were cute as fuck, and then when you had a big ophthalmology appointment with a specialist around the same time they demanded proof you were still alive or something. I told her there was no way she was bringing you here, like flat out considered taking you back to Texas with me over letting her drive you to McDonald's in Syracuse for lunch with them."

"You think I can still pass for cute as fuck?" Dave asked with a grin, adjusting his bangs to sit just so, peeking out from under the hem of his beanie, before snapping a quick shot of himself in the rearview mirror.

"You can pass for a huge pain in my ass," Dirk said, punching him gently in the upper arm. "So you think it's too late to fly to Texas, just you and me?"

"Yeah, I mean I can pack up and work anywhere, but you'd totally miss your dog."

"Yeah, yeah, and if I bring the dog, the dog would miss Jake and then it'd be a whole thing so we'd have to invite him as well, so suddenly it's you and me, Jake, the dog, and there goes the point. Besides, I've done the transnational move with him once and we agreed we'd never do that again."

"Yeah, and like, then there's the major issue of _this_ ever surviving in fucking Texas," Dave said, gesturing to himself with both hands. "So side note, and kind of a real one because I'm pretty sure I'm only here to like, y'know, shake things up for everyone, but how long are we just gonna sit in the car?"

Dirk flicked his lighter closed one last time and just clutched it in his fist, staring out the windscreen at something across the street; Dave tried following his line of sight but couldn't figure out exactly what he was looking at. 

"Honestly? Until Rox calls me and says she's been watching us sit here holding up the funeral."

"Okay, cool. Am I dressed okay?"

For all the time Dave had spent looking after Roxy over the years, and Rose even longer, he'd never really thought about what it would be like to look out for Dirk. 

Somehow, his mere presence seemed to be almost enough. 

"Yeah," Dirk said after a quick glance over Dave's outfit, as if he was only seeing it for the first time. "You solid on the Texas thing?"

"I think I'm pretty solid on the Texas thing, yeah," Dave said. He glanced down at his phone. "Shit, you summoned her. Mom says we've got five minutes before she drags one of us out by the hair, because she's already had three people ask her about the will." 

"Fuckin' knew it," Dirk muttered. "Okay, let's go. You remember the old rules from back when I took you to gigs? The whole, don't go taking drinks and shit from strangers? Same applies here, but with the added bonus that literally everyone in there is gonna ask you deeply personal questions about all of us. So unless Rox tells you different, go nuts and never use the same lie twice." 

"Shit, dude, you just broke your own cardinal rule, the _don't lean into Dave's bullshit because he'll take it way too far_ one."

He stared blankly across the car until Dirk sighed, finally reaching for the door handle.

"Let your bullshit fly free, spawn of mine."

Dave, never one to waste an opportunity, let his bullshit fly free. If he had any real sense of shame he would have paid more attention to the countless eyes on him all throughout the leadup to the funeral; his parents' mother had passed away, unexpectedly from what he could infer, the information slowly pieced together as the day went on. He introduced himself to everyone differently, as a Strider, a Lalonde, as Dirk's, as Roxy's, whatever came out first when he started talking. He shook hands with people who, upon realising who he belonged to, asked the deeply personal questions Dirk had alluded to back when they were sitting in the truck. He swiped a thumb down his photo reel and picked a picture at random when they asked if he was dating, and made up college degrees based on whatever was in his line of sight. 

The questions about his glasses never stopped. 

He was blind, fighting a migraine, had lost an eye in elementary school. He had no idea who he was lying to or how they were related to him, and rode to the funeral with what he thought might be a great uncle and some kind of removed cousins who were too bewildered by his rampant opinions on shampoo prices to even ask him to stop talking.

Roxy pulled him aside when he arrived at the church, seemingly just to slide an arm around his neck and kiss his forehead.

"Love your work, baby, but I think claiming you used to _be_ Rosie was too much for my aunt." 

" _No_ ," he replied sarcastically. "The part where she physically recoiled kinda gave it away. Where's Bro?"

"I left him in the second row and told him not to move his ass, so he better still be there," she said, her arm still wrapped tightly around his shoulders as they walked up the steps together. "You doing okay? You know you can tap out any time you want and take my car back."

"Yeah, all good. How 'bout you?" 

"Ask me again tonight," Roxy said, shooing him into the pew ahead of her. "And yes, we're going to Denny's, before you ask, but only good little boys who don't complain all day get dessert."

He noticed that it wasn't just him she was talking to; Dirk cocked an eyebrow at her statement, then turned his attention back to the front of the church, voluntarily oblivious to everyone around him.

+++

By the time Dave shuffled into the space beside him and sat down, stretching his legs out under the row ahead, Dirk had officially run through every possible scenario in which his kid voluntarily came along to the funeral of the grandmother he'd never known. 

Jake's parents, despite living in the U.K. and not meeting him until he was already a teenager, had filled that role in the most comfortingly stereotypical ways over the years; they sent Dave Christmas presents, printed photos from his Instagram to go on their fridge, and sometimes called him just to talk about something they'd seen on the news or in the paper they thought he'd be interested in hearing. More than once they'd gone as far as cutting out a newspaper article and posting it to him; Jake had been entirely on their side, claiming that it was hardly his parents' fault modern England was built on over two thousand years of ancient ruins. 

Deep down, Dirk knew he and Roxy had kept Dave and Rose away out of spite as well as to keep them safe. 

He could understand that one day, Dave would be perfectly willing to fly to the U.K. with them if something happened to one of Jake's parents. That made sense. It made sense that he'd want to say goodbye to the people who took him in as a grandson and sent him bones they found half-buried by creeks in their village under the guise of scientific study. But there was no logical reason, none that he'd been able to figure out, to explain why Dave was sitting beside him in a church in Syracuse, at the funeral of the mother he'd seen just twice in thirty years. 

Dressed in dark wash jeans and a blazer over his hoodie, Dave tapped the heel of his snow boot against the carpet slowly, apparently in time to an unknown beat stuck in his head rather than as the far more common anxious release. He knocked his knee into Dirk's throughout the funeral, and put his head down on his shoulder when Roxy stood up to perform the expected speech on behalf of the pair of them; Dirk had refused, once again, to speak at the funeral of a parent. 

At the end of the ceremony, as everyone filed out of the church, Dirk watched from the open passengers' side door of Roxy's BMW as Dave climbed into the back seat of someone else's car for the trip back to the house. 

When Dave flipped him off out the rear window, he returned the gesture and turned in his seat to close the door against the frigid winter air. 

The ride back was quiet. He thanked Roxy, if reluctantly, for being the one to take a public hit yet again on his behalf and indulging him when it came to things he had no desire to talk about. She smiled at him sadly and turned back to the road; as much as they'd both suffered through a difficult life with their parents, her experiences had been far less traumatic than his. 

She kissed his cheek when they arrived, and left him in the car alone to decide when he was ready to go inside. 

After making a few cursory rounds of the dining room-kitchen-living room circuit, out of the corner of his eye, already willing time to move faster, Dirk saw familiar socked feet disappear up the stairs. He made a loop back to the kitchen and traded his empty beer for two fresh bottles, and followed Dave upstairs. 

"Hey," he said, closing the door to his childhood bedroom behind him, a quiet thunk when the latch caught. "How're you doing?" 

"Okay," Dave shrugged, peering into the closet as he slid one door open. "Weird, but I think that's just the whole, _never been to a funeral before thing_ , I dunno. How about you?" 

"I'm okay," Dirk said, holding out the second beer until Dave took it from him. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You don't exactly seem okay," Dave replied. He popped the cap off his beer and put it down on the edge of a bookcase, still full of old high school novels, then sat down on the bed and leaned back against the wall. 

Dirk watched as Dave took a swig from the bottle, eyes presumably never leaving his own behind their Aviator frames, and suddenly he realised he knew exactly why his son had insisted on being there. 

Dave was looking out for him, the same way he always looked out for everyone important to him when they needed him. 

"In news that won't shock you at all, I've got a lot of old baggage about this place," Dirk said with a heavy sigh; as he sat down on the mattress next to Dave, he tossed his own bottle cap in the direction of a trash can that had long since been moved. It landed softly on the carpet. "My dad was an asshole, but at least he made it obvious he was an asshole, you know? An asshole's an asshole. They're predictable. But my mom, she was," he paused briefly to take a drink. "I was dead to her the second she found out I'm gay. It was such a big deal they would've disowned me over it, but then they'd have to admit they'd disowned a kid who was perfect on paper."

"Is that why you stayed here?" Dave asked, glancing over. 

"Yeah, that and I had nowhere else to go. I came out to them voluntarily so it felt like it was my own fault."

"How'd they take it?"

"They took my door, my bathroom privileges, and micromanaged every second of my days until I graduated high school, so not well," Dirk said with a derisive snort of laughter. "In retrospect, the obvious decision would've been to lie for less than a year until I went to college but fuck if that's not proof I've always been the way I am." 

Dave took another slow swig of beer, his head leaning back against a long-since discoloured Ice-T poster. 

"I'm bi," he said after a pause that felt both too long, and not long enough. 

"Yeah?" 

It took every ounce of self control Dirk had perfected over a lifetime to keep his response as casual as possible; he knew that a single overzealous comment, or coming on too hard, and Dave would freeze up and change the subject before he managed to say anything else.

"Yeah."

Instead, he just nudged Dave with his elbow and lifted an arm up and around his son's shoulders.

"And you're good?"

"Yeah," Dave replied, bending one knee and pulling his leg up to his chest. "I mean, now I am but like, it was a whole thing for a while."

"Any of it my fault?" Dirk asked cautiously.

"Kind of, yeah, but not like how you'd think," Dave said, taking another drink. "I mean, it wasn't like I was ever _oh shit, being gay is so gay_ or anything, because like, you and mom always said that whatever we turned out like would be totally cool and you obviously meant it. But you were always just so, like, decisive? Like _yeah, so what if I'm into dudes_? And then Rose was never not obviously a lesbian, but I just spent all my time being like, okay maybe I am but nah I don't think so because girls are definitely hot, but actually, wait, fuck, guys are too, and it kind of fucked me up because no one really tells you that being into both is a totally viable option."

"It's not just you, trust me. You owe your entire existence to the hetero-agenda," he snorted. "So you want me to shut up and drop this whole conversation?"

"Nah, it's cool," Dave said, leaning in closer to relax against Dirk's side. "I mean, it's not like I'm about to go telling everyone but that's like, a me thing I think? It's just not like a big deal, you know? And yeah, maybe that's a positive byproduct of the you and mom school of parenting but it's not like I've ever woken up feeling like I gotta announce it to the world or anything. Like I haven't really ever told anyone but I guess some people figured it out through like, osmosis or whatever. Karkat knows because like, it's not a joke when I say there's nothing he doesn't know about me but, y'know," he trailed off with a shrug. "It's just another thing I was all fucked up about for way longer than I probably should've been."

"It's more that in the grand scheme of things me and Rosie are the odd ones out," Dirk said. "Not many people figure this kind of shit out early. Fuck, Jake told me once that he didn't realise he was into guys until he was actively shoving his tongue down a guys' throat."

"I mean gross, but yeah, that sounds like Pops," Dave said, tipping his head back far enough that Dirk could see down past the top rim of his glasses and into his eyes. "I knew you'd be like this about it, that's why I never told you even when I got cool with it."

"What? I'm trying to be supportive and all that shit. Cool and casual, you know the deal."

"Yeah, exactly, but I know you and I know you're flipping the fuck out over the fact that not only did I just tell you something super fucking personal, but it's something you know all about and you're desperate to ask me about because you feel like you missed out on like, a pretty unique father-son bonding experience," Dave said. "I know I'm right so I'm not even gonna wait and see what bullshit lie you come up to cover your ass with so you've got three questions before we start talking about something else."

"Three questions, huh?" Dirk mused. "Any hard limits?"

"Yeah, don't be fucking gross."

"Okay, so the first and obviously most important question, can I see your Tinder profile?"

"Fuck off," Dave scoffed. "That's my private and personal information, go fuck yourself, I said don't be fucking gross. Pass, hard pass."

Dirk laughed loudly and shoved Dave back upright. 

"Okay, so a pass means I've still got three questions, don't even try to argue, fair's fair," he said. "Okay, actual question. Shit, okay, did you ever try and make it an obvious thing and I missed the hint? Because if you did, I didn't get the hint, dude."

"Nah, the whole thing was an ongoing internal crisis for way too long so there was no way I was about to do anything that had you guessing," Dave said. He leaned over the edge of the bed to put his beer down on the carpet and sat back against the wall. "And like, I guess I started figuring it out pretty early but I didn't go into full blown identity crisis until everything else went to shit. Like, it was just another thing on my list of shit to do at that point, like harass Rosie via text because she's in New Jersey, harass you via text because you're in San Diego, tuck Mom in because it's a Wednesday, then lie awake staring into the void and contemplating the merits of sucking face with versus without post-pubescent facial hair."

"That definitely depends on the configuration," Dirk said. "But I can't even start to tell you how much I'm digging the late nineteenth century explorer moustache more than I thought I would."

"Gross, but we're talking about me, remember?" Dave said, pulling an overly-exaggerated face. "But nah, I didn't actively drop any hints because I never wanted it to be a big deal even once it stopped being such a big deal to me, you know? But I was pretty convinced by this one epic party in twelfth grade so I was like, fuck it, you know? And just went for it with one of the guys from track and even then I just played it off like it was whatever."

"And?"

"And we hooked up for a while, big deal," Dave shrugged.

Dirk watched as Dave rearranged himself to sit cross-legged on the dusty bed covers, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. 

"Question number two?"

Dave looked up at his suggestion.

"Hit me."

"You seriously never told anyone straight out?"

"Dude, I promise you, you're the first person who's ever heard the words straight out of my face hole," Dave said, shuffling around to face Dirk side on instead of staring out across the room. "Like I said, Karkat knows but that's because he knows everything, and every excruciating detail of every bad date I've ever had literally ever is absolutely at the top of the list of shit he knows about me but probably wishes he didn't. I told John, but in a super weird and round about way that was so dumb because I lose all my brain cells around John but yeah, he knows. I guess Rose probably thinks she knows but like, not for sure, because I've said exactly jack shit about it to her because she'd never shut up if I did, but she's y'know, Rose. And yeah I mean maybe other people know, like Terezi almost definitely does because she lives in my apartment and has superhuman hearing as well as a total ability to turn Karkat into a disgusting, mushy heap who does like anything for her. But until literally two minutes ago I swear I never said it straight out."

"You feeling weird about this yet?" Dirk asked, gesturing between them after a slight pause. He lifted his beer and drained the last few mouthfuls before resting the empty bottle down on the edge of the window seat; he had a vague recollection of leaning so far out the window, more than once, to avoid being caught smoking, that he's almost fallen. 

Dave shrugged. 

"It's weird, but not in a bad way or anything. What's your third wish?"

"I feel like if you were angling for a bombshell here we might as well go all out, so I gotta know if only for total peace of mind," Dirk said. Dave raised an eyebrow; a challenge, if he'd ever seen one. "Were you and Karkat ever a thing because if I missed the bi thing, I missed the Karkat thing," he said, hands already half-raised in a surrender even before the iPhone hurled towards his chest. 

"Oh my God, Bro, fuckin' take it and help yourself to my Tinder, fuck, read all the messages you want," Dave said, mirroring Dirk's pose with his hands raised. "Gross, that's so gross, oh my God."

Dirk laughed, hard, and tossed Dave's phone back to him without so much as lighting up the lock screen. 

"Sorry," he managed to say, breaking out into laughter again when he looked over to see the horrified look still plastered all over Dave's face. "Man, I'm sorry, too far. Let's play a new game, you in?"

"Depends, does it involve another sick heart-to-heart between father and son on a whole other level of shared awkwardness?"

"Depends," Dirk parroted. "Go through my old shit. It's a total finders keepers situation in here right now."

With an eyebrow raised again, this time out of suspicion, Dave stood up from the bed and strolled around the bedroom as he stretched out his legs. After a lap and a half with Dirk watching him the entire time, he paused and slid open the closet again. 

"Oh shit, dude," he deadpanned, reaching in to pull something from a hanger. "Check it out, it's me from ten minutes ago."

+++

She looked up from her phone when, somewhere in her peripheral vision, she noticed a car pull up beside hers in the parking lot. The truck towered over her sleek sports car, but the familiar face waving at her from the passenger's seat was enough to brighten up what had been a day she was looking forward to forgetting. 

Dave climbed out of the truck and slammed the door with enough force that she could imagine the exact face her brother was making over the blatant mistreatment of his vehicle.

He'd never loved the truck as much as he'd loved the Camry, but it had to be close.

"Hi, baby," Roxy crooned, wrapping one arm tightly around her son as they stepped up onto the pavement even though she'd only seen him fifteen minutes earlier at the house. "Fuck, it's cold," she said, heels clacking against the concrete. "It's gonna get below zero tonight."

"Yeah?" Dave asked, reaching out to pull the door open. 

"Yeah. Mega below zero if we want to believe that fucking liar of a weather woman. Quick, table or booth?"

"Seriously?"

While she'd considered asking for a table just to see the reaction, Roxy slid into the booth first, Dave following to sit beside her. Dirk sat down opposite them, finally looking more relaxed than he had all day.

Not only did he look more relaxed, but happier than she would have expected.

"I mean I know this is totally a _ding dong the witch is dead_ moment for you, but are you seriously this happy mom's dead?" Roxy asked.

"Yes," Dirk said bluntly. "Very. The knowledge of her mere existence has been hanging over me since 1971 and thank fuck it's over," he added, flashing a forced grin across the table as he handed out menus. "So, who wants what? We had a massive argument in the truck over pancakes versus french toast. Like pancakes are pancakes and that's the choice most people would make, but fuck, french toast is just as good when you're in the mood for french toast, and it could go either way most days since both are viable options. But in the end, you gotta choose one or the other, right?"

"That's a microaggression against people who just want carbs in any form," Dave snapped back, obviously kicking Dirk's shin under the table.

"Hey, no microaggression arguments over family dinner," Roxy said, glaring her best mom-glare at both of them. "And microaggressions? Seriously? That's the low bar we've decided to set for tonight?"

"We were listening to one of his old man podcasts," Dave shrugged, as he folded his menu back over. "And I was like, well literally everything else about you kinda balances out the gay thing and it turned into a whole argument but I'm unobjectively right, like c'mon, white, rich, famous, he's got the full checklist. You had to be there," he explained. 

Because Dave's explanation was so completely useless and explained absolutely nothing, she did the only thing that made sense and flagged down their waitress. 

"Can I get the loaded veggie omelette with whole wheat toast and a mango lemonade?" Roxy said. "Dave? Go."

"French toast slam, scrambled eggs, and an unsweetened cold brew, thanks," Dave said quickly, his attention obviously elsewhere. 

Roxy ignored the fact he blatantly kicked Dirk a second time. 

"Ultimate omelette, hold the bread," Dirk said; apparently, he'd ignored Dave's second kick as well. "And can I get a chocolate peanut butter shake with extra peanut butter? Triple, if that's a thing, no issue if there's an extra charge," he added. "Seriously, go ham on the peanut butter." 

"Hold the bread but triple peanut butter?" Roxy asked once the waitress had confirmed their order and rushed off to check on another table. 

"Yeah, I don't need the toast but fuck, Jake's at work. I can go home as toxic as I want tonight," Dirk pointed out. "It's been like four months since I last had peanut butter."

"Life must be so hard for you," Roxy said, with as much false sympathy as she could manage, even going as far as to reach out for his hand across the table. "Anyway, the conversation we need to have right now is that I had a phone call earlier this week and it turns out that mom last updated her will in 1995 so guess who just inherited a house?"

"Good timing, I bet she wanted to cut you out after the divorce," Dirk said.

"Oh, me too. You're mentioned, by the way," Roxy said, more off-handedly. "But only in the context of actively denying you ownership of anything."

"Good, I don't want anything anyway."

"And you think I do?" Roxy laughed incredulously. "I'm selling it off as soon as the extended family finish scavenging like the vultures they are and the plan is to split the money fifty-fifty. She only said you're not inheriting anything, nothing about you profiting from me selling off inherited assets."

"Okay, but you're not hearing me Rox, I don't want anything," Dirk said, more firmly than before. "Keep it, or donate it, or do whatever the fuck you want with it, but none of it's coming to me."

It took more effort than it should have to keep herself from sighing dramatically at him. She understood where he was coming from, and she knew he'd had an unbelievably difficult few days - decades, really - but he had a way of making everything that much harder.

As much as their parents had made her own life difficult, they'd made his next to impossible. When he left for college after a year of being ignored in his own home, they'd sent her a check for more than double her tuition just to rub in that they'd refused to pay for his; she had no doubt they'd made sure he knew. When she ended up divorced less than a year into her whirlwind marriage, they sent him enough money to cover almost a year of rent in Houston. He'd sent the envelope back, unopened, with a large red _return to sender_ written in blocky letters. She had a vague recollection of the wedding, from one of her more lucid moments, of him standing outside the church smoking cigarette after cigarette and promising to come inside when he was done. He'd fought tooth and nail with her when she said she was thinking about meeting with their parents when the kids were still young, back when they'd had to take Dave to a specialist in Syracuse. Dirk had felt so strongly against it, after so many years of freedom, that he'd threatened to take Dave and leave her and Rose forever if she did. It had taken a week to talk him out of it. 

He'd never let it go. He still couldn't, and over thirty years later, she knew just how deep the trauma still ran. 

"Okay, fine. We split it fifty-fifty, but half goes to yours and the other half to mine," Roxy suggested. "They'd hate that even more than fifty percent going straight into your pocket, considering mine's a married lesbian living in Europe and yours is, well," she trailed off, gesturing a hand towards Dave as he tried to line up a fourth shot of the iced coffee their waitress had dropped off while they were talking. "Artsy." 

"You can say _conceited_ , Mom," Dave pitched in without looking away from the important decision over which of the six photos was best to post publicly. "It'd be the nicest hate comment I get today."

"Real life insults aren't hate comments, baby," she said, reaching over to pat his arm. "But you are just a tiny little bit conceited."

"Wow, rude," Dave snorted. 

"I'll meet you halfway," Dirk said. He was resting his arms on the tabletop by then, idly tapping the edge of his wedding ring against the plastic laminate. "A fifty-fifty on the fifty-fifty split. Give the kids twenty-five percent each to piss away as they see fit. You and me each pick a charity and throw them the remaining twenty-five percent."

"Deal," Roxy said as she held out a hand. "I assume the charity has to be something actually beneficial to society as a whole."

"Something that actually needs it," Dirk said, reaching across the table to shake her hand. 

"So I can't donate it to the right-wing conspiracy nuts who want to dig that hole through the Earth until they fall out the bottom?" 

Roxy was joking, and she knew that her brother knew she was as well, but the look he was giving her for even making the joke was enough to end humour in its entirety. 

"Fuck, boomers make everything way too hard," Dave said, dropping his phone down onto the diner table. "Something for girls in STEM, and something for gay kids," he said, gesturing to each of them in turn. "Done, next thanks, check please, whatever." 

"We're not boomers, idiot," Dirk said. 

"I know what I said," Dave retorted. 

"You're talking a lot of shit for someone who hasn't ordered dessert yet," Roxy interrupted before they could start kicking each other under the table again.

"Who're you talking to?" Dave asked; his leg jerked as he weathered another blow from across the booth. 

" _Guess_." 

From the looks on each of their faces, it took less than three seconds for them to realise she was talking about both of them.

+++

"So not that I've been dwelling on all the shit we went over this afternoon and wondering if I can bring it up again or if we're pretending it didn't happen," Dirk said as he lowered the driver's side window, just far enough to hang his lit cigarette out of the truck. "But any chance I can trade in a real question number three after my bullshit attempt to lighten a situation which retrospectively didn't need it?"

They were forty minutes out of Syracuse by then. Dirk was driving down the highway ten miles under the speed limit to compensate for the snow, which was only falling faster as the evening wore on. Dave had switched out his good sunglasses for an older pair when they had first climbed back into the truck after dinner, flipping them up onto his head once they were out of town and the only car on the highway for what felt like miles at a time. 

"You can ask, yeah," Dave replied from beside him. "But assured answers are no longer guaranteed and you're running the ever-present risk of jumping aboard the Bullshit Express."

Dirk didn't take his eyes off the dark road ahead, not even when he heard the sound of a phone clattering into the centre console. 

"You ever had any serious relationships you hid from me?" 

He asked the question before Dave had the chance to change his mind.

"Not really," Dave shrugged. "Like obviously I didn't exactly tell you shit about dick squat, but you're asking if I've ever had a real long-term thing, right?"

"Yeah," he admitted, bringing his cigarette inside long enough to take a deep drag before returning his hand to the window. "Curiosity is killing me here," he admitted, exhaling from the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing that was like, actually serious. There were a few hook ups that probably could've been a thing if I wanted them to but it's like, not a huge deal or anything that they didn't? Like, I'm not totally opposed to the idea but I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything right now by not getting serious, you know? Kinda like Pops, I guess. He always says he was just kind of ambivalent about the whole serious relationship thing until one day he lost his fucking mind and decided he wanted to marry you after knowing you for a whole three days," Dave said with a grin. "I'm a busy guy, I've got other shit to do."

"You sure as fuck are. How about a bonus question?" Dirk proposed. He crushed his cigarette butt against the outside of his door, and dropped it into the empty soda can Dave had left in the cup holder earlier in the week. "With the bonus round rules of you just being able to totally ignore me and change the subject to whatever you want." 

"Okay. Hit me," Dave said, turning the upper half of his body around to face the driver's seat. 

"Why'd you decide today was the day?"

"That's a fucking question."

"Remember, it's bonus round rules," Dirk pointed out, quickly glancing over at Dave and the complicated expression on his face. 

"Because I can't even imagine what it'd be like going home to Mom's place if she'd ever hated something that was just inherently part of what I am," Dave said slowly, as if he was carefully choosing each word based on its impact. "I almost told you at Christmas, you know. Like, _really_ almost told you," he added after a beat. "But I bitched out like every other time I almost told you, because I had this idea in my head that you'd be a real fucked up kind of disappointed. Because like, I don't know if this was a thing back in the seventeen hundreds when you came out, but there's a big fucking thing about not being gay enough for the gays, and not straight enough for the straights, and like yeah, I know it's a load of horseshit, logically, but logically I know it's horseshit to celebrate Christmas with a panic attack, too." 

"It was only 1989," Dirk said as he stole another glance across the car. 

"Shut up. Every time you talk about that place, it's a shitty story. And I mean, I get it, right? You had a shit time and shit parents, and that means every time you think about it or I ask about it or whatever, you just have this endless barrage of shit to think about," Dave went on. "I thought you might need like, one whole memory of the place, literally just one, that would kind of help to balance out the cascade of pure shit."

Outside the car, the snow continued to fall and Dirk gripped the steering wheel tightly as he turned off the highway. 

"Bro?" 

"Hang on, I need a minute," Dirk said. He veered the car through the parking lot and pulled into an empty space by the Starbucks. "Here," he said, tossing Dave his wallet. "Get me a coffee."

"I got it," Dave said, returning the wallet to the dash. His glasses were already back to their usual position resting on his nose, obscuring most of the expression he was obviously struggling to keep as neutral as he could. "Usual?" 

"Yeah, thanks."

Dave was only gone for a few minutes. Dirk watched him through the glass storefront, head buried in his phone as if it was an entirely normal day. When he came back out to the truck with two venti cups, fingers icy from the cold as he passed one over, he didn't even bother clipping his seatbelt on because it was obvious they weren't going anywhere.

"I ever tell you exactly how coming out went for me?"

Dirk said after a quiet moment where they both struggled with the first sip of fresh coffee.

"I mean, I kinda get the impression it went down like a declaration of open warfare," Dave said. "Some dramatic yelling, a lot of fucks, and someone ended up invading Czechoslovakia but like, totally by accident."

Dirk gave a snort of laughter, turning in his own seat to face Dave. 

"So, Roxy knew already because, as it turns out, fifteen year old me wasn't half a slick as he thought he was."

"Oh man," Dave grinned. "You had analogue porn."

"That, too. I only came out because it was that, or take responsibility for knocking Meenah up."

"She's one who sends you the dick cake for your birthday every year, yeah?" 

"The very same. She ended up pregnant at the end of Junior year and the news got around a few months after that. Her parents shipped her off to Florida with no warning and mine found out through the good old fashioned rumour mill, and went straight for the classic _tear him a new asshole_ approach," Dirk explained. "Except, and here's the part I know you never had to deal with, when you've had a new asshole ripped every other day for close to ten years, you tend to make dumbfuck decisions without thinking through the consequences. I told them it wasn't mine, they didn't believe me, so I told them I was gay."

"Just, straight up told them?" Dave asked. He was leaning back against the closed passenger's side door, his left leg pulled up on the seat so he could rest his coffee on his knee. Relaxed. 

"Just straight up told them," Dirk confirmed. "My mom never looked me in the eye again but she didn't say anything to me for an entire year, either. I told her I got into college and she said 'good', and that was the longest conversation we had until I moved out. My dad stopped hitting me with his bare hands in case he caught something."

"How'd Mom find out?"

"She found my analogue porn in the bathroom."

"Rookie mistake, dude," Dave snorted. 

"That, and she walked in on me making out with a guy I played hockey with."

"That's pretty much how Karkat found out, except dial down the NHL involvement and add more than just tonsil." 

Dirk laughed loudly at that, but for all the bravado behind the statement, he could see the very tips of Dave's ears turning pink as he realised what he'd said out loud.

"How bad was it?"

"Well, by a total and miraculously timed Earth-shattering coincidence, that was the day I totally realised I should remember to lock my dorm room door. Like, it's New York City, dude, anyone could walk in and see shit they never wanted to imagine," Dave deadpanned. 

He lifted his coffee cup and took a long, slow drink, staring out the windscreen instead of across the truck as the flush spread down the back of his neck. 

"Rookie mistake, huh?" Dirk said. 

It was surprisingly more difficult than he'd ever expected to hold back on the usual teasing when the situation called for it; even his callback to Dave's earlier comment almost seemed too far.

"I never wanted it to be a thing, you know?" Dave said, still staring across the parking lot. "I mean like, we all used to make jokes about Rose being a lesbian and yeah she started them or whatever, but it was a _thing_ , right? And yeah, I figured this shit out literally like a decade later than she did because she decided boys suck when she was six and never took it back, but I was like, legit scared of it being a thing. And that's with you going public from day one and talking about it in like every interview you ever did, and Mom doing shit like letting us wear whatever we wanted and telling us she loved us at least eight times a day, and I was still shit scared to tell you when I realised I had the _dumbest_ crush on a guy in my tenth grade math class," he explained, pausing as he shifted almost uncomfortably in his seat. "And now you're telling me you just straight up told your parents you were gay? That's like, totally badass, dude."

There was a look of vague admiration on Dave's face as Dirk let his words sink in.

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"Thanks, Dave."

"Hey," Dave said suddenly; Dirk paused with a hand on the gear shift, his attention immediately back on his son.

"What?"

"I know I don't have to say it because you wouldn't anyway, but please don't tell Mom," Dave went on. "I want to tell her, because she's Mom and I love her and I know she'll be totally cool, but I'm not exactly ready for that kind of, you know, over the top unconditional support shit," he explained. "She's like, a lot."

"Yeah, she is," Dirk laughed. With the remainder of his coffee resting in the nearest cup holder and Dave finally un-contorted in his seat, he slipped the truck into reverse and started pulling out of the rest stop parking lot. 

He didn't know how to finish their conversation without making it any more awkward, at least not without falling back into the familiar routine of light teasing Dave clearly wasn't ready to ensure. As he veered onto the empty highway, snow rapidly piling up on the shoulder, he stole a glance across the car; Dave was clutching his coffee, staring out at the road ahead, his expression lax.

His leg, usually bouncing to keep the worst of his nervous energy under control, was still.

"So, you think it's all my fault for putting you in Rosie's hand me downs until you were six?" 

"Shit, I guess that explains why I'm into tits," Dave fired back as he let out a sharp burst of laughter. "I mean, that totally clears up whether I take more after you or Pops though." 

"Speaking of home," Dirk said as he reached over to run a hand comfortingly through the back of Dave's overgrown undercut. "You think you might want to hang out for a few days?"

"Yeah, I can swing a few days."

**End of Act 6.5**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and just like that, possibly the biggest PLF mystery has been solved. yes, i'm taking questions either here or on tumblr lol
> 
> another act down, another unknown to come. i love you all, so much. 
> 
> oh, and obviously - happy pride month!

**Author's Note:**

> <3 u
> 
> come hang out at twoperfectlittlefreaks.tumblr.com! i love talking about this thing so much obviously, considering how long it is.


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